UC-HRLF 


BY  EZRA  HEEICEK, 


'X!vC»««w«, 


Mary  J,  L^  McDopald 


[Fourth  Edition] 

THE  OX  TEAM 


OR  THE 


Old  Oregon  Trail 

1852-1906 


An  Account  of  the  Author's  Trip  Across 
THE  Plains,  from  the  Missouri  River  to 
PuGET    Sound,    at    the   Age   of   Twenty-two, 

WITH    AN    Ox    AND    CoW    TeAM    IN    1852,    AND    OF 

His  Return  with  an  Ox  Team  in  the  Year 
1906,  at  the  Age  of  Seventy-six,  with 
Copious  Excerpts  From  His  Journal  and 
Other  Reliable  Sources  of  Information; 
A  Narrative  of  Events  and  Descriptive  of 
Present    and    Past    Conditions         :         :         : 


EZRA  MEEKEll         '• 

Author  of  Pioneer  Reminisc£nces  of  Puget  Sound,- 
The   Tragedy    of   Leschi,    Hop    Culture    in    the 
United    States,    Washington    Territory 
West    of    the     Cascade    Moun- 
tains,   Familiar   Talks — A 
Three       Years 
Serial. 


Published  by  the  Author 
New  York 

Cloth  6o  Cts.   Postpaid 

Address    Ezra    Meeker,  Room    1214,  35   Nassau   Street, 
New  York 


Copyright,  1907,  by 

EZRA  MEEKER 

All  Rights  Reserved 

Published,   October,    1906 
Reprinted,    January,    1907 
Reprinted,    June,    1907 
Reprinted,  September,   1907 


'   '  m  MEMORf>*M 

Q 


The  Dream  of  the  Star 


[A  Song  of  the  Oregon  Trail.    Dedicated  to  Ezrq, 

Meeker.  Pioneer.] 


A  song  for  the  men  who  blazed  the  way! 

With  hearts  that  would  not  quail 
They  made  brave  quest  of  the  wild  Northwest. 

They  cut  the  Oregon  trail. 

Back  of  them  beckoned  their  kith  and  kin 
And  all  that  they  held  their  own; 

Front  of  them  spread  the  wilderness  dread. 
And  ever  the  vast  unknown. 

But  ever  they  kept  their  forward  course. 

And  never  they  thought  to  lag. 
For  over  them  flew  the  Red,  White  and  Blue 

And  the  dream  of  a  star  for  the  flag! 

II 

A  cheer  for  the  men  who  cut  the  trail! 

With  souls  as  firm  as  steel 
And  fiery  as  wrath  they  hewed  the  path 

For  the  coming  Commonweal. 

And  close  on  the  heels  of  the  pioneers 

The  eager  throng  closed  in 
And  followed  the  road  to  a  far  abode. 

An  Empire  new  to  win. 

And  so  they  wrought  at  the  end  of  the  trail, 

As  ever  must  brave  men  do. 
Till  out  of  the  dark  there  gleamed  a  spark. 

And  the  dream  of  the  star  came  true! 

Ill 

A  toast  to  the  men  who  made  the  road! 

And  a  health  to  the  men  who  dwell 
In  the  great  new  land  by  the  heroes  planned, 

Who  have  builded  it  wide  and  well! 

The  temple  stands  where  the  pine  tree  stood. 

And  dim  is  the  ancient  trail. 
But  many  and  wide  are  the  roads  that  guide 

And  stanch  are  the  ships  that  sail! 

For  the  land  is  a  grand  and  goodly  land. 

And  its  fruitful  fields  are  tilled 
By  the  sons  who  see  on  the  flag  of  the  free 

The  dream  of  the  star  fulfilled! 

ROBERTUS  LOVE 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  Pioneers  who  fought  the  battle  of  peace, 
and  wrested  Oregon  from  British  rule,  this  book 
is  reverently  dedicated. 


984420 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Frontispiece. 

Dedicating  Monument  at  Tenino,  Washington 16 

Granite  Monument  at  Baker  City,  Oregon 38 

On  the  Dock,  Tacoma,  Washington 48 

Twist  and  Dave 84 

Camp   No.   1 88 

Team  in  Motion  on  the  '  *  Plains  " 90 

Dedicating  Monument  at  The  Dalles,  Oregon 108 

Dedicating  Monument  at  Pendleton,  Oregon 110 

Old  Timers  at  Baker  City,  Oregon 118 

EocKY  Mountain   Scenery • 130 

The  Old   Oregon  Trail 132 

Monument  at  South  Pass 136 

Devil  's  Gate   .^ 144 

Independence  Rock    151 

At  Scotts  Bluff 166 

Mrs.  Eebecca  Winter's   Grave 168 

Chimney  Rock  172 

Breaking  the  Cows 180 

On  the  Bridge 194 

The  Ox  and  Cow  Team 210 

Arrival  at  Indianapolis,  Ind.,  January  5,  1907 226 

Map  of  the  Old  Oregon  Trail 250,  251 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
From  Indiana  to  Iowa. 
Early    Days    In    Indiana — The    Brimstone    Meeting-house — ^I'm 

Going  to  be  a  Farmer — Off  for  Iowa — An  Iowa  Winter.  .      13 

CHAPTER  II. 

OrF  FOR  Oregon. 

Tlie  Start— First  Day  Out <. 22 

CHAPTER  III. 

Crossing  the    Missouri 28 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Out  on  the  Plains. 
The    Indians — The    Cholera — Extent   of    Emigration — the   Cas- 

ualtiefe    32 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  High  Court. 
Law   of    Self-Preservation — Capital    Punishment 41 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Ox. 

The   Ox   Passing — The   Battle   of    Peace 45 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Ox  Team  Brigade  and  the  Cow  Column. 
Emigration    of    1843 — Horace    Greeleys    Opinion— Cause    that 

Saved  Oregon  from  British  Rule — Jesse  Applegate's  Epic.  •   49 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
Life  on  the  Plains. 
Opening    the    Road — Mode    of    Travel     in     1852 — Abandoned 
Property — The  Cholera — The   Happy  Family;: — Heroic  Pio- 
neer   Women — Hardships    60 

CHAPTER  IX. 

River  Crossings. 
Wagon-beds  as  Boats — Down  Snake  River  in  Wagon- boxes.  .. .      74 

CHAPTER   X. 

Ravages  of  the  Cholera. 

The  Great  Panic 79 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition. 
The  Team — Team   of   1852 — The   Wagon — Camp   No.   1 — Tum- 
water,   Washington — Tenino   Monument — Central  la,   Wash- 
ington— Chehalls,     Washington,     Claquato,     Washington — 
Jacksons — Toledo,  Washington — Portland,  Oregon 82 

(5) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Floating    Down    the    River 97 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 
The    Dalles,    Oregon — Out    from    the    Dalles — Pendleton,    Ore- 
gon— The   Blue  Mountains — Meacham,   Oregon — La  Grand, 
Oregon— Ladd's  Canyon — Camp  No.  34 — Baker  City,   Ore- 
gon— Old     Mount     Pleasant,     Oregon — Durkee,     Oregon — 

Huntington — Vale,    Oregon    106 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 

Old    Fort    Boise— Parma,    Idaho — Boise,     Idaho — Twin    Falls, 

Idaho — American     F^Us,     Idaho — Pocatello,     Idaho — Soda 

Springs.    Idaho —Montpelier,    Idaho — The    Mad    Bull — The 

Wounded   Buffalo — Cokeville,    Wyoming 122 

CHAPTER   XV. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 
The    Rocky    Mountains — Pac'fie    Springs — South    Pass    Monu- 
ment        181 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 

Sweetwater — Split   Rock    139 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 

The  Devil's  Gate 143 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 
Independence  Rock — Fish  Creek — North  Platte  River — Casper, 
Wyoming — Glen      Rock — Douglas,      Wyoming — Puyallup— 

Tacoma — Seattle     148 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Ox  Team    Monument   Expedition  Continued. 
Fort  Laramie,  Wvoming — Scottsbluff — The  Dead  of  the  Plains 

— Chimney  Rock-— North   Platte,  Nebraska 163 

CHAPTER   XX. 
Obituary  NoTica. 

Death   of   Twist    176 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition  Continued. 

Gothenburg,    Nebraska — Lexington    179 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Ox  Team  Monumknt  Expedition  Concluded. 

Kearney,  Nebraska— Grand   Island,  Nebraska 186 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
A  Chapter  for  Children. 
The    Antplopes — Quarrel    Between    .Tim    and    Dave — Jim's    Ad- 
venture with  a   Wolf — About  Puget   Sound 191 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
Early   Life   on    Puqbt   Sound. 

Wild    Animals — The    Cougar — The    Morning   School 108 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Questions  and  Answers   217 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 
Autobiography   of  the   Author S97 


THE  OX  TEAM 

OR 

THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL 
1853-1906 


INTRODUCTION  TO  AN  INTRODUCTION, 


I  had  not,  until  the  last  moment,  intended  to 
write  an  introduction,  unless  my  readers  ac- 
cepted the  writing  of  early  Indiana  life  as  such. 
Introductions  so  often  take  the  form  of  an  apol- 
ogy that  the  dear  public  properly  omits  to  read 
them,  and  so  I  will  content  myself  with  the  re- 
mark that  this  reference  to  my  first  chapter  shall 
answer  for  the  introduction,  for  which  I  offer  no 
apology. 


CHAPTEB  I.  - 
Fbom  Indiana  to  Iowa. 
EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA. 

IN  THE  early  '50s,  out  four  and  a  half  and 
seven  miles  respectively  from  Indianapolis, 
Indiana,  there  lived  two  young  people  with  their 
parents,  who  were  old-time  farmers  of  the  old 
style,  keeping  no  "hired  man"  nor  buying  many 
"store  goods."  The  girl  could  spin  and  weave, 
make  delicious  butter,  knit  soft,  good  shapen 
socks,  and  cook  as  good  a  meal  as  any  other  coun- 
try girl  around  about,  and  withal  as  buxom  a 
lass  as  had  ever  been  "born  and  raised  there  ( In- 
diana) all  her  life." 

These  were  times  when  sugar  sold  for  eighteen 
cents  per  pound,  calico  fifteen  cents  per  yard,  salt 
three  dollars  a  barrel,  and  all  other  goods  at  these 
comparatively  high  prices,  while  butter  would 
bring  but  ten  cents  a  pound,  eggs  five  cents  a 
dozen,  and  wheat  but  two  bits  (twenty-five  cents) 
a  bushel.  And  so,  when  these  farmers  went  to 
the  market  town  (Indianapolis)  care  was  taken 
to  carry  along  something  to  sell,  either  some  eggs 


14  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

/or  butter  OP  perhaps  a  half  dozen  pairs  of  socks 
,;  Qv  niajbe  a  few  yards  of  cloth,  as  well  as  some 

'  grain,  or  hay  cr  a  bit  of  pork,  or  possibly  a  load 
of  wood,  to  make  ends  meet  at  the  store. 

The  young  man  was  a  little  uncouth  in  appear- 
ance, round-faced,  rather  stout  in  build — almost 
fat, — Si  little  boisterous,  always  restless,  and 
without  a  very  good  address,  yet  with  at  least 
one  redeeming  trait  of  character:  he  loved  his 
work  and  was  known  as  industrious  a  lad  as  any 
in  the  neighborhood. 

THE  BRIMSTONE  MEETING-HOUSE. 

These  young  people  would  sometimes  meet  at 
the  "Brimstone  meeting-house,''  a  Methodist 
church  known  by  that  name  far  and  wide;  so 
named  by  the  unregenerate  because  of  the  open 
preaching  of  endless  torment  to  follow  non- 
church  members  and  sinners  to  the  grave — a  lit- 
eral lake  of  fire,  taught  with  vehemence  and 
accompanied  with  boisterous  scenes  of  shouting 
of  those  who  were  "saved."  Amid  these  scenes 
and  these  surroundings  these  two  young  people 
grew  up  to  the  age  of  manhood  and  womanhood, 
knowing  but  little  of  the  world  outside  of  their 
home  sphere, — and  who  knows  but  as  happy  as 


THE   OLD  OREGON    TRAIL  15 

if  they  had  seen  the  whole  world?  Had  they  not 
experienced  the  joys  of  the  sugar  camp  while 
"stirring  off"  the  lively  creeping  maple  sugar? 
Both  had  been  thumped  upon  the  bare  head  by 
the  falling  hickory  nuts  in  windy  weather;  had 
hunted  the  black  walnuts  half  hidden  in  the 
leaves;  had  scraped  the  ground  for  the  elusive 
beach  nuts,  had  even  ventured  to  apple  parings 
together,  though  not  yet  out  of  their  "teens.'^ 
The  lad  hunted  the  'possum  and  the  coon  in  the 
White  river  bottom,  now  the  suburb  of  the  city 
of  Indianapolis,  and  had  cut  even  the  stately  wal- 
nut trees,  now  so  valuable  (extinct  in  fact)  that 
the  cunning  coon  might  be  driven  from  his  hiding 
place. 

I'M  GOING  TO  BE  A  FARMER. 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  farmer  when  I  get  married," 
the  young  man  quite  abruptly  said  one  day  to 
the  lass,  without  any  previous  conversation  to 
lead  up  to  such  an  assertion,  to  the  confusion  of 
his  companion,  who  could  not  mistake  the 
thoughts  that  prompted  the  words.  A  few  months 
later  the  lass  said,  "Yes,  I  want  to  be  a  farmer, 
too,  but  I  want  to  be  a  farmer  on  our  own  land," 
and  two  bargains  were  confirmed  then  and  there 
when  the  lad  said,  "We  will  go  west  and  not  live 


THB  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  17 

on  pap's  farm."  "Nor  in  the  old  cabin,  nor  any 
cabin  unless  it's  our  own,"  came  the  response, 
and  so  the  resolution  was  made  that  they  would 
go  to  Iowa,  get  some  land,  and  grow  up  with  the 
country. 

OFF  FOE  IOWA. 

About  the  first  week  of  October,  1851,  a  cov- 
ered wagon  drew  up  in  front  of  Thomas  Sumner's 
habitation,  then  but  four  miles  out  from  Indian- 
apolis on  the  National  road,  ready  to  be  loaded 
for  the  start.  Eliza  Jane,  the  second  daughter 
of  that  noble  man,  the  "lass"  described,  then  the 
wife  of  the  young  man  mentioned,  the  author, 
was  ready,  with  cake  and  apple  butter  and  pump- 
kin pies,  jellies  and  the  like,  enough  to  last  the 
whole  trip  and  plenty  besides.  Not  much  of  a 
load,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  all  we  had :  plenty  of 
blankets,  a  good  old-fashioned  feather  bed,  a  good 
sized  Dutch  oven,  and  each  an  extra  pair  of  shoes 
and  cloth  for  two  new  dresses  for  the  wife,  and 
for  an  extra  pair  of  pants  for  the  husband. 

Tears  could  be  restrained  no  longer  as  the 
loading  progressed  and  the  stem  realization 
faced  the  parents  of  both  that  the  young  couple 
were  about  to  leave  them. 


18  THE    OX   TEAM   OR 

"Why,  mother,  we  are  only  going  out  to  Iowa, 
you  know,  where  we  can  get  a  home  that  shall  be 
our  own;  it's  not  so  very  far — only  about  500 
miles." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  suppose  you  get  sick  in  that 
uninhabited  country — who  will  care  for  you?" 

Notwithstanding  this  motherly  solicitude,  the 
young  people  could  not  fail  to  know  there  was  a 
secret  feeling  of  approval  in  the  good  woman's 
breast,  and  when,  after  a  few  miles'  travel,  the 
reluctant  final  parting  came,  could  not  then  know 
that  this  loved  parent  would  lay  down  her  life  a 
few  years  later  in  an  heroic  attempt  to  follow  the 
wanderers  to  Oregon,  and  that  her  bones  would 
rest  in  an  unknown  and  unmarked  grave  of  the 
Platte  valley. 

Of  that  October  drive  from  the  home  near  In- 
dianapolis to  Eddyville,  Iowa,  in  the  delicious 
(shall  I  say  delicious,  for  what  other  word  ex- 
presses it?)  atmosphere  of  an  Indian  summer, 
and  in  the  atmosphere  of  hope  and  content ;  hope 
born  of  aspirations — content  with  our  lot,  born 
of  a  confidence  for  the  future,  what  shall  I  say? 
What  matter  if  we  had  but  a  few  dollars  in 
money  and  but  few  belongings;  we  had  the  wide 
world  before  us ;  we  had  good  health ;  and  before 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  19 

and  above  all  we  had  each  other  and  were  su- 
premely happy,  and  rich  in  our  anticipations. 

At  that  time  but  one  railroad  entered  Indian- 
apolis— it  would  be  called  a  tramway  now, — from 
Madison  on  the  Ohio  river,  and  when  we  cut  loose 
from  that  embryo  city  we  left  railroads  behind 
us,  except  such  as  were  found  in  the  wagon  track 
where  the  rails  were  laid  crossways  to  keep  the 
wagon  out  of  the  mud.  What  matter  if  the  road 
was  rough,  we  could  go  a  little  slower,  and  then 
would  n^t  we  have  a  better  appetite  for  our  sup- 
per because  of  the  jolting,  and  would  n't  we  sleep 
a  little  sounder  for  it?  And  so  everything  in  all 
the  world  looked  bright,  and  what  little  mishaps 
did  befall  us  were  looked  upon  with  light  hearts, 
that  they  might  have  been  worse. 

The  great  Mississippi  river  was  crossed  at  Bur- 
lington, or,  rather,  we  embarked  several  miles 
down  the  river  and  were  carried  up  to  the  landing 
at  Burlington,  and  after  a  few  days'  further  driv- 
ing landed  in  Eddyville,  Iowa,  destined  to  be 
only  a  place  to  winter,  and  a  way  station  on  our 
route  to  Oregon. 

AN  IOWA  WINTER. 

My  first  introduction  to  an  Iowa  winter  was 
in  a  surveyor's  camp  on  the  western  borders  of 


20  THE    OX    TEAM   OR 

the  state,  a  little  way  north  of  Kanesville  (now 
Council  Bluffs),  as  cook  of  the  party,  which  po- 
sition was  speedily  changed  and  that  of  flagman 
assigned  me. 

If  there  are  any  settlers  now  left  of  the  Iowa 
of  that  day  (fifty-five  years  ago)  they  will  re- 
member the  winter  was  bitter  cold — the  coldest 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant.  On 
my  trip  back  from  the  surveying  party  just  men- 
tioned to  Eddyville,  just  before  Christmas,  I  en- 
countered one  of  those  cold  days  long  to  be  re- 
membered. A  companion  named  Vance  rested 
with  me  over  night  in  a  cabin,  with  scant  food 
for  ourselves  or  the  mare  we  led.  It  was  thirty- 
five  miles  to  the  next  cabin ;  we  must  reach  that 
place  or  lay  out  on  the  snow.  So  a  very  early 
start  was  made,  before  daybreak  while  the  wind 
lay.  The  good  lady  of  the  cabin  baked  some 
biscuits  for  a  noon  lunch,  but  they  were  frozen 
solid  in  our  pockets  before  we  had  been  out  two 
hours.  The  wind  rose  with  the  sun,  and  with 
the  sun  two  bright  sun-dogs,  one  on  each  side, 
and  alongside  of  each,  but  slightly  less  bright, 
another, — a  beautiful  sight  to  behold,  but  arising 
from  conditions  intolerable  to  bear.  Vance  came 
near  freezing  to  death,  and  would  had  I  not  sac- 


THE  OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  21 

ceeded  in  arousing  him  to  anger  and  gotten  him 
off  the  mare. 

I  vowed  then  and  there  I  did  not  like  the  Iowa 
climate,  and  the  Oregon  fever  was  visibly  quick- 
ened. Besides,  if  I  went  to  Oregon  the  govern- 
ment gave  us  320  acres  of  land,  while  in  Iowa  we 
would  have  to  purchase  it, — at  a  low  price,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  must  be  bought  and  paid  for  on  the 
spot.  There  were  no  preemption  or  beneficent 
homestead  laws  in  force  then,  and  not  until  many 
years  later.  The  country  was  a  wide  open,  roll- 
ing prairie,  a  beautiful  country  indeed, — but 
what  about  a  market?  No  railroads,  no  wagon 
roads,  no  cities,  no  meeting-houses,  no  schools; 
the  prospect  looked  drear.  How  easy  it  is  for 
one  when  his  mind  is  once  bent  against  a  country 
to  conjure  up  all  sorts  of  reasons  to  bolster  his, 
perhaps,  hasty  conclusions ;  and  so  Iowa  was  con- 
demned as  unsuited  to  our  life  abiding  place. 

But  what  about  going  to  Oregon  when  spring- 
time came?  An  interesting  event  was  pending 
that  rendered  a  positive  decision  impossible  for 
the  moment,  and  not  until  the  first  week  of  April, 
1852,  when  our  first-born  baby  boy  was  a  month 
old,  could  we  say  that  we  were  going  to  Oregon 
in  1852. 


22  THE   OX   TEAM    OB 

CHAPTER  11. 
Off  for  Oregon. 

{HAVE  been  asked  hundreds  of  times  how 
many  wagons  were  in  the  train  I  traveled 
with,  and  what  train  it  was,  and  who  was  the 
captain,  assuming  that  of  course  we  must  be  with 
some  train. 

THE  START. 

When  we  drove  out  of  Eddyville  there  was  but 
one  wagon  in  our  train,  two  yoke  of  four-year-old 
steers,  one  yoke  of  cows,  and  one  extra  cow. 
This  cow  was  the  only  animal  we  lost  on  the 
whole  trip :  strayed  in  the  Missouri  river  bottom 
before  crossing. 

And  now  as  to  the  personnel  of  our  little  party. 
William  Buck,  who  became  my  partner  for  the 
trip,  was  a  man  six  years  my  senior,  had  had  some 
experience  on  the  Plains,  and  knew  well  as  to  an 
outfit  needed,  but  had  no  knowledge  as  to  a  team 
of  cattle.  He  was  an  impulsive  man  and  to  some 
extent  excitable,  yet  withal  a  man  of  excellent 
judgment  and  as  honest  as  God  Almighty  makes^ 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  23 

men.  J^o  lazy  bone  occupied  a  place  in  Buck's 
body.  He  was  so  scrupulously  neat  and  cleanly 
that  some  might  say  he  was  fastidious,  but  such 
was  not  the  case.  His  aptitude  for  the  camp 
work  and  unfitness  for  handling  the  team,  at 
once,  as  we  might  say  by  natural  selection,  di- 
vided the  cares  of  the  household,  sending  the 
married  man  to  the  range  with  the  team  and  the 
bachelor  to  the  camp.  The  little  wife  was  in 
ideal  health,  and  almost  as  ^'particular''  as  Buck 
(not  quite  though),  while  the  young  husband 
would  be  a  little  more  on  the  slouchy  order,  if 
the  reader  will  pardon  the  use  of  that  word, 
though  more  expressive  than  elegant. 

Buck  selected  the  outfit  to  go  into  the  wagon, 
while  I  fitted  up  the  wagon  and  bought  the  team. 

We  had  butter,  packed  in  the  center  of  the 
flour  in  double  sacks;  eggs  packed  in  corn  meal 
or  flour,  to  last  us  nearly  five  hundred  miles; 
fruit  in  abundance,  and  dried  pumpkins;  a  little 
jerked  beef,  not  too  salt,  and  last,  a  demijohn  of 
brandy  for  "medicinal  purposes  only,"  as  he  said, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  of  the  eye  that  exposed  the 
subterfuge  which  he  knew  I  knew  without  any 
sign.  The  little  wife  had  prepared  the  home- 
made yeast  cake  which  she  knew  so  well  how  to 


24  THE   OX  TEAM   OB 

make  and  dry,  and  we  had  light  bread  all  the 
way,  baked  in  a  tin  reflector  instead  of  the  heavy 
Dutch  ovens  so  much  in  use  on  the  Plains. 

Albeit  the  butter  to  a  considerable  extent 
melted  and  mingled  with  the  flour,  yet  we  were 
not  much  disconcerted  as  the  short-cake  that  fol- 
lowed made  us  almost  glad  the  mishap  had  oc- 
curred. Besides,  did  we  not  have  plenty  of  fresh 
butter  churned  every  day  in  the  can,  by  the  jostle 
of  the  wagon,  from  our  own  cows?  Then  the 
buttermilk.  What  a  luxury,  yes,  that's  the  word, 
a  real  luxury.  I  will  never,  so  long  as  I  live,  for- 
get that  short-cake  and  corn  bread,  the  puddings 
and  pumpkin  pies,  and  above  all  the  buttermilk. 
The  reader  who  may  smile  at  this  may  well  recall 
the  fact  that  it  is  the  small  things  that  make  up 
the  happiness  of  life. 

But  it  was  more  than  that.  As  we  gradually 
crept  out  on  the  Plains  and  saw  the  sickness  and 
suffering  caused  by  improper  food  and  in  some 
cases  from  improper  preparation,  it  gradually 
dawned  on  me  how  blessed  I  was,  with  such  a 
partner  as  Buck  and  such  a  life  partner  as  the 
little  wife.  Some  trains,  it  soon  transpired,  were 
without  fruit,  and  most  of  them  depended  upon 
saleratus  for  raising  their  bread.    Many  had  only 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  25 

fat  bacon  for  meat  till  the  buffalo  supplied  a 
change,  and  no  doubt  but  much  of  the  sickness 
attributed  to  the  cholera  was  caused  by  an  ill- 
suited  diet. 

I  am  willing  to  claim  credit  for  the  team,  every 
hoof  of  which  reached  the  Coast  in  safety.  Four 
four-year-old  steers  and  two  cows  were  sufficient 
for  our  light  wagon  and  light  outfit,  not  a  pound 
of  which  but  was  useful  (except  the  brandy,  of 
which  more  anon)  and  necessary  for  our  com- 
fort. Not  one  of  these  had  ever  been  under  the 
yoke,  though  plenty  of  "broke''  oxen  could  be  had, 
but  generally  of  that  class  that  had  been  broken 
in  spirit  as  Avell  as  in  training,  so,  when  we  got 
across  the  river  with  the  cattle  strung  out  to  the 
wagon  with  Buck  on  the  off  side  to  watch,  while 
I,  figuratively  speaking,  took  the  reins  in  hand, 
we  may  have  presented  a  ludicrous  sight,  but  did 
not  have  time  to  think  whether  we  did  or  not, 
and  cared  but  little  so  the  team  would  go. 

FIRST  DAY  OUT. 

The  first  day's  drive  out  from  Eddyville  was  a 
short  one,  and  so  far  as  I  now  remember  the  only 
one  on  the  whole  trip  where  the  cattle  were  al- 
lowed to  stand  in  the  yoke  while  the  owners 


26  THE  OX   TEAM  OB 

lunched  and  rested.  I  made  it  a  rule,  no  matter 
how  short  the  noon  time,  to  unyoke  and  let  the 
cattle  rest  or  eat  while  we  rested  and  ate,  and  on 
the  present  1906  trip  have  rigidly  adhered  to 
that  rule. 

An  amusing  scene  was  enacted  when,  at  near 
nightfall,  the  first  camp  was  made.  Buck  excit- 
edly insisted  we  must  not  unyoke  the  cattle. 
"Well,  what  shall  we  do?"  I  said;  "they  can't 
live  in  the  yoke  always;  we  will  have  to  unyoke 
them  sometimes." 

"Yes,  but  if  you  unyoke  here  you  will  never 
catch  them  again."  One  word  brought  on  an- 
other, till  the  war  of  words  had  almost  reached 
the  stage  of  a  dispute,  when  a  stranger,  Thomas 
McAuley,  who  was  camped  near  by,  with  a  twin- 
kle in  his  eye  I  often  afterwards  saw  and  will 
always  remember,  interfered  and  said  his  cattle 
were  gentle  and  there  were  three  men  of  his 
party  and  that  they  would  help  us  yoke  up  in 
the  morning.  I  gratefully  accepted  his  proffered 
help,  speedily  unyoked,  and  ever  after  that  never 
a  word  with  the  merest  semblance  of  contention 
passed  between  Buck  and  myself. 

Scanning  McAuley's  outfit  the  next  morning  I 
was  quite  troubled  to  start  out  with  him,  his 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  27 

teams  being  light,  principally  cows,  and  thin  in 
flesh,  with  wagons  apparently  light  and  as  frail 
as  the  teams.  But  I  soon  found  that  his  outfit, 
like  ours,  contained  no  extra  weight;  that  he 
knew  how  to  care  for  a  team ;  and  was  withal  an 
obliging  neighbor,  as  was  fully  demonstrated  on 
many  trying  occasions,  after  having  traveled  in 
company  for  more  than  a  thousand  miles,  and 
until  his  road  to  California  parted  from  ours,  at 
the  big  bend  of  Bear  river. 

Of  the  trip  through  Iowa  little  remains  to  be 
said  further  than  that  the  grass  was  thin  and 
washy,  the  roads  muddy  and  slippery,  and 
weather  execrable,  although  May  had  been  ush- 
ered  in  long  before  we  reached  the  Missouri 


I  river. 


28  THE   OX   TEAM   OS 


CHAPTER  IIL 
Gbossinq  thb  Missourl 

WHAT  on  earth  is  that?"  exclaimed  Mar- 
garet McAuley  aa  we  approached  the 
ferry  landing  a  few  miles  below  where  Omaha 
now  stands. 

"It  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  great  big 
white  flatiron,"  answered  Eliza,  the  sister, 
"does  n't  it,  Mrs.  Meeker?"  But,  leaving  the 
women  folks  to  their  similes,  we  drivers  turned 
our  attention  more  to  the  teams  as  we  encoun- 
tered the  roads  "cut  all  to  pieces"  on  account  of 
the  concentrated  travel  as  we  neared  the  landing 
and  the  solid  phalanx  of  wagons  that  formed 
the  flatiron  of  white  ground. 

We  here  encountered  a  sight  indeed  long  to 
be  remembered.  The  "flatiron  of  white"  that 
Eliza  had  seen  proved  to  be  wagons  with  their 
tongues  pointing  to  the  landing — ^a  center  train 
with  other  parallel  trains  extending  back  in  the 
rear  and  gradually  covering  a  wider  space  the 
farther  back  from  the  river  one  would  go.  Sev- 
eral hundred   wagons  were  thus  closely  inter- 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  29 

locked,  completely  blocking  the  approach  to  the 
landing  by  new  arrivals,  whether  in  companies 
or  single.  All  round  about  were  camps  of  all 
kinds,  from  those  without  covering  of  any  kind 
to  others  with  comfortable  tents,  nearly  all  seem- 
ingly intent  on  merrymaking,  while  here  and 
there  were  small  groups  engaged  in  devotional 
services.  We  soon  ascertained  these  camps  con- 
tained the  outfits  in  great  part  of  the  wagons  in 
line  in  the  great  white  fiatiron,  some  of  whom 
had  been  there  for  two  weeks  with  no  apparent 
probability  of  securing  an  early  crossing.  At 
the  turbulent  river  front  the  turbid  waters  had 
already  swallowed  up  three  victims,  one  of  whom 
I  saw  go  under  the  drift  of  a  small  island  as  I 
stood  near  his  shrieking  wife  the  first  day  we 
were  there.  Two  scows  were  engaged  in  cross- 
ing the  wagons  and  teams.  In  this  case  the  stock 
had  rushed  to  one  side  of  the  boat,  submerged 
the  gunwale,  and  precipitated  the  whole  contents 
into  the  dangerous  river.  One  yoke  of  oxen,  hav- 
ing reached  the  farther  shore,  deliberately  en- 
tered the  river  with  a  heavy  yoke  on  and  swam 
to  the  Iowa  side,  and  were  finally  saved  by  the 
helping  hands  of  the  assembled  emigrants. 

"What  should  we  do?"  was  passed  around, 
without  answer.     Tom   McAuIey   was   not  yet 


30  THE  OX  TEAM  OE 

looked  upon  as  a  leader,  as  was  the  case  later. 
The  sister  Margaret,  a  most  determined  maiden 
lady,  the  oldest  of  the  party  and  as  resolute  and 
brave  as  the  bravest,  said  to  build  a  boat.  But  of 
what  should  we  build  it?  While  this  question 
was  under  consideration  and  a  search  for  mate- 
rial made,  one  of  our  party,  who  had  gotten 
across  the  river  in  search  of  timber  for  oars,  dis- 
covered a  scow  almost  completely  buried,  on  the 
sand  spit  opposite  the  landing,  ^'only  just  a  small 
bit  of  the  railing  and  a  corner  of  the  boat  vis- 
ible." The  report  seemed  to  be  too  good  to  be 
true.  The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  find  the  owner, 
which  in  a  search  of  a  day  we  did,  eleven  miles 
down  the  river.  "Yes,  if  you  will  stipulate  to  de- 
liver the  boat  safely  to  nie  after  crossing  your  five 
wagons  and  teams,  you  can  have  it,"  said  the 
owner,  and  a  bargain  was  closed  right  then  and 
there.  My !  but  did  n't  we  make  the  sand  fly  that 
night  from  that  boat?  By  morning  we  could  be- 
gin to  see  the  end.  Then  busy  hands  began  to 
cut  a  landing  on  the  perpendicular  sandy  bank 
on  the  Iowa  side ;  others  Tvere  preparing  sweeps, 
and  all  was  bustle  and  stir  and  I  might  say 
excitement. 

By  this  time  it  had  become  noised  around  that 
another  boat  would  be  put  on  to  ferry  people 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TEAIL  31 

over,  and  we  were  besieged  with  applications 
from  detained  emigrants.  Finally,  the  word 
coming  to  the  ears  of  the  ferrymen,  they  were 
foolish  enough  to  undertake  to  prevent  us  from 
crossing  ourselves.  A  writ  of  replevin  or  some 
other  process  was  issued,  I  never  knew  exactly 
what,  directing  the  sheriff  to  take  possession  of 
the  boat  when  landed  and  which  he  attempted 
to  do.  I  never  before  nor  since  attempted  to 
resist  an  officer  of  the  law,  nor  joined  to  accom- 
plish anything  by  force  outside  the  pale  of  the 
law,  but  when  that  sheriff  put  in  an  appearance 
and  we  realized  what  it  meant,  there  was  n't  a 
man  in  our  party  that  did  not  run  for  his  gun  to 
the  nearby  camp,  and  it  would  seem  needless  to 
add  we  did  not  need  to  use  them.  As  if  by  magic 
a  hundred  guns  were  in  sight.  The  sheriff  with- 
drew, and  the  crossing  went  peaceably  on  till  all 
our  wagons  were  safely  landed.  But  we  had  an- 
other danger  to  face:  we  came  to  know  there 
would  be  an  attempt  to  take  the  boat  from  us, 
not  as  against  us,  but  against  the  owner,  and  but 
for  the  adroit  management  of  McAuley  and  my 
brother  Oliver,  who  had  joined  us,  we  would  have 
been  unable  to  fulfil  our  engagements  with  the 
owner. 


32  THE   OX   TEAM   OE 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Out  on  the  Plains. 
THE  INDIANS. 

AS  SOON  as  a  part  of  our  outfits  were  landed 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  river  our  trouble 
with  the  Indians  began,  not  as  in  open  hostilities, 
but  in  robbery  under  the  guise  of  beggary.  The 
word  had  been  passed  around  in  our  little  party 
that  not  one  cent's  worth  of  provisions  would  we 
give  up  to  the  Indians,  believing  this  policy  was 
our  only  safeguard  from  spoliation,  and  in  that 
we  were  right.  The  women  folks  had  been  sent 
over  the  river  with  the  first  wagon,  and  sent  off 
a  little  way  to  a  convenient  camp,  so  that  the 
first  show  of  arms  came  from  that  side  of  our 
little  community,  when  some  of  the  bolder  Paw- 
nees attempted  to  pilfer  around  the  wagons.  But 
no  blood  was  shed,  and  I  may  say  in  passing  there 
was  none  shed  by  any  of  our  party  during  the 
whole  trip,  though  there  did  come  a  show  of 
arms  in  several  instances. 

One  case  in  particular  I  remember.    Soon  after 
we  hiad  left  the  Missouri  river  we  came  to  a  small 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  83 

bridge  over  a  washout  across  the  road,  evidently 
constructed  but  very  recently  by  some  train  just 
ahead  of  us.  The  Indians  had  taken  possession 
and  demanded  pay  for  crossing.  Some  ahead  of 
us  had  paid,  while  others  were  hesitating,  but 
with  a  few  there  was  a  determined  resolution  not 
to  pay.  When  our  party  came  up  it  remained 
for  that  fearless  man,  McAuley,  in  quite  short 
order  to  clear  the  way  though  the  Indians  were 
there  in  considerable  numbers.  McAuley  said, 
"You  fellers  come  right  on,  for  I  'm  going  across 
that  bridge  if  I  have  to  run  right  over  that  Ingen 
settin'  there."  And  he  did  almost  run  over  the 
Indian,  who  at  the  last  moment  got  out  of  the 
way  of  his  team,  which  was  followed  in  such 
quick  succession  and  with  such  show  of  arms  the 
Indians  withdrew  and  left  the  road  unobstructed. 
We  did  not,  however,  have  much  trouble  with 
the  Indians  in  1852.  The  facts  are  the  great 
numbers  of  the  emigrants,  coupled  with  the  su- 
periority of  their  arms,  placed  them  on  compara- 
tively safe  grounds.  And  it  must  be  remembered, 
also,  that  this  was  before  the  treaty-making  pe- 
riod, which  has  so  often  been  followed  by  blood* 
shed  and  war. 


34  THE   OX  TEAM   OB 

But  to  return  to  the  river  bank.  We  crossed 
on  the  17th  and  18th  of  May  and  drove  out  a 
short  way  on  the  19th,  but  not  far  enough  to  be 
out  of  hearing  of  a  shrill  steamboat  whistle  that 
resounded  over  the  prairie,  announcing  the  ar- 
rival of  a  steamer.  I  never  knew  the  size  of  that 
steamer,  or  the  name,  but  only  know  that  a  dozen 
wagons  or  more  could  be  crossed  at  one  time, 
and  that  a  dozen  or  more  trips  could  be  made 
during  the  day,  and  as  many  at  night,  and  that 
we  were  overtaken  by  this  throng  of  a  thousand 
wagons  thrown  upon  the  road,  that  gave  us  some 
trouble  and  much  discomfort. 

THE  CHOLERA. 

And  now  that  we  were  fairly  on  the  way  the 
whole  atmosphere,  so  to  speak,  seemed  changed. 
Instead  of  the  discordant  violin  and  more  dis- 
cordant voices,  with  the  fantastic  night  open-air 
dances,  with  mother  earth  as  a  floor,  there  soon 
prevailed  a  more  sober  mien,  even  among  the 
young  people,  as  they  began  to  encounter  the 
fatigue  of  a  day's  drive  and  the  cares  of  a  night 
watch.  With  so  many,  the  watchword  was  to 
push  ahead  and  make  as  big  a  day's  drive  as  pos- 
sible, it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  nearly 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  35 

the  whole  of  the  thousand  wagons  that  crossed 
the  river  after  we  did  soon  passed  us. 

"Now,  fellers,  jist  let  'em  rush  on,  and  keep 
cool,  we  '11  overcatch  them  afore  long,"  said  Mc- 
Auley.  And  we  did,  and  passed  many  a  broken- 
down  team,  the  result  of  that  first  few  days  of 
rush.  It  was  this  class  that  unloaded  such  piles 
of  provisions,  noted  elsewhere,  in  the  first  two- 
hundred-mile  stretch,  and  that  fell  such  easy 
prey  to  the  ravages  of  the  epidemic  of  cholera 
that  struck  the  moving  column  where  the  throng 
from  the  south  side  of  the  Platte  began  crossing. 
As  I  recollect  this,  it  must  have  been  near  where 
the  city  of  Kearney  now  stands,  which  is  about 
two  hundred  miles  west  of  the  Missouri  river. 
We  had  been  in  the  buffalo  country  several  days, 
and  some  of  our  young  men  had  had  the  keen 
edge  of  the  hunting  zeal  worn  off  by  a  day's  ride 
in  the  heat,  a  number  of  whom  were  sick  from 
the  effects  of  overheating  and  indiscreet  drink- 
ing of  impure  water.  Such  an  experience  came 
vividly  home  to  me  in  the  case  of  my  brother 
Oliver,  who  had  outfitted  with  our  Hoosier 
friends  near  Indianapolis,  but  had  crossed  the 
Missouri  river  in  company  with  us.  Being  of  an 
adventurous  spirit,  he  could  not  restrain  his  ar- 


36  THB   OX   TEAM   OV 

dor,  and  gave  chase  to  the  buffaloes,  and  fell  sick 
almost  unto  death.  This  occurred  just  at  the 
time  when  we  had  encountered  the  cholera  panic, 
and  of  course  it  must  be  the  cholera  that  had 
seized  him  with  such  an  iron  grip,  argued  some 
of  his  companions.  His  old-time  comrades  and 
neighbors,  all  but  two,  said  they  could  not  delay. 
I  said,  "It 's  certain  death  to  take  him  along  in 
that  condition,"  which  they  admitted  was  true. 
"Divide  the  outfit,  then!"  The  Davenport 
brothers  said  they  would  not  leave  my  brother, 
and  so  their  portion  of  the  outfit  was  put  out 
also,  which  gave  the  three  a  wagon  and  team. 
Turning  to  Buck,  I  said,  "I  can't  ask  you  to  stay 
with  me."  The  answer  came  back  quick  as  a 
flash,  "I  am  going  to  stay  with  you  without  ask- 
ing," and  he  did,  too,  though  my  brother  was  al- 
most a  total  stranger.  We  nursed  the  sick  man 
for  four  days  amidst  scenes  of  excitement  and 
death  I  hope  never  to  witness  again,  with  the  re- 
sult that  on  the  fifth  day  we  were  able  to  go  on 
and  take  the  convalescent  with  us  and  thus  saved 
his  life.  It  was  at  this  point  the  sixteen  hundred 
wagons  passed  us  as  noted  elsewhere  in  the  four- 
days  detention,  and  loose  stock  so  numerous  we 
made  no  attempt  to  count  or  estimate  them. 


THE   OLD   OKEGON    TRAIL  37 

Of  course  this  incident  is  of  no  special  impor- 
tance, except  to  illustrate  what  life  meant  in 
those  strenuous  days.  The  experience  of  that 
camp  was  the  experience,  I  may  say,  of  hundreds 
of  others,  of  friends  parting,  of  desertion,  of  no- 
ble sacrifice,  of  where  the  best  and  worst  of  the 
inner  man  was  shown.  Like  the  dissolving  clouds 
of  a  brightening  summer  day,  the  trains  seemed 
to  dissolve  and  disappear,  while  no  one  seemed 
to  know  what  had  become  of  their  component 
parts,  or  whither  they  had  gone. 

There  did  seem  instances  that  would  convert 
the  most  skeptical  to  the  Pre'^byterian  doctrine 
of  total  depravity,  so  brutal  and  selfish  were  the 
actions  of  some  men;  brutal  to  men  and  women 
alike;  to  dumb  brutes,  and  in  fact  to  themselves. 
And  yet  alongside  of  this,  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
record  that  there  were  numerous  instances  of 
noble  self-sacrifice,  of  helpfulness,  of  unselfish- 
ness, to  the  point  of  imperiling  their  own  lives. 
It  became  a  common  saying  that  to  Jcnow  one's 
neighbors,  they  must  be  seen  on  the  Plains. 

EXTENT  OF  EMIGRATION. 

The  army  of  loose  stock  that  accompanied  this 
huge  caravan,  a  column,  we  may  almost  say,  of 


i 


:/^: 


GRANITE   MONUMENT  AT    BAKER   CITY,  OREGON 


THE  OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  39 

five  hundred  miles  long  without  break,  added 
greatly  to  the  discomfort  of  all.  Of  course  it  will 
never  be  known  the  number  of  such  or  for  that 
matter  of  the  emigrants  themselves,  but  their 
numbers  were  legion  compared  to  those  that  la- 
bored under  the  yoke.  A  conservative  estimate 
would  be  not  less  than  six  animals  to  the  wagon, 
and  suri'ly  there  were  three  loose  animals  to 
where  there  was  one  laboring.  By  this  it  would 
appear  that,  while  there  were  sixteen  hundred 
wagons  passed  while  we  tarried  four  days,  there 
were  nearly  ten  thousand  beasts  of  burden  passed 
under  review,  and  near  thirty  thousand  loose 
stock.  As  to  the  number  of  persons,  certainly 
there  were  five  to  the  wagon,  maybe  more,  but 
calling  it  five,  eight  thousand  people,  men, 
women,  and  children,  passed  on,  many  to  their 
graves  not  afar  off. 

We  know  by  the  inscribed  dates  found  on  In- 
dependence Rock  and  elsewhere  that  there  were 
wagons  full  three  hundred  miles  ahead  of  us,  and 
that  the  throng  had  continued  to  pass  the  river 
more  than  a  month  after  we  had  crossed,  so  that 
it  does  not  require  a  stretch  of  the  imagination 
to  say  the  column  was  five  hundred  miles  long, 
and,  like  Sherman's  march  through  Georgia,  fifty 
thousand  strong. 


40  THE  OX  TEAM  OB 

THE  CASUALTIES. 

Of  the  casualties  in  that  mighty  army  I 
scarcely  dare  guess.  It  is  certain  that  history 
does  not  give  a  record  of  so  great  a  number  mi- 
grating so  long  a  distance  as  that  of  the  Pioneers 
of  the  Plains,  where,  as  we  have  seen,  the  dead 
lay  in  rows  of  fifties  and  groups  of  seventies. 
Shall  we  say  ten  per  cent  fell  by  the  wayside? 
Many  will  exclaim  that  estimate  is  too  low.  Ten 
per  cent  would  give  us  five  thousand  sacrifices 
of  lives  laid  down  even  in  one  year  to  the 
peopling  of  the  Pacific  Coast  states.  The  roll 
call  was  never  made,  and  we  know  not  how  many 
there  were.  The  list  of  mortalities  is  unknown, 
and  so  we  are  lost  in  conjecture,  and  now  we 
know  only  that  the  unknown  and  unmarked 
graves  have  gone  into  oblivion. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TliAlL  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  High  Court. 

LAW  OF  SELF-PRESERVATION. 

WHEN  we  stepped  foot  upon  the  right  bank 
of  the  Missouri  river  we  were  outside  the 
pale  of  civil  law.  We  were  within  the  Indian 
country  where  no  organized  civil  government  ex- 
isted. Some  people  and  some  writers  have  as- 
sumed that  each  man  was  a  *^iaw  unto  himself 
and  free  to  do  his  own  will,  dependent,  of  course, 
upon  his  physical  ability  to  enforce  it. 

Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  facts  than 
this  assumption,  as  evil  doers  soon  found  out  to 
their  discomfiture.  No  general  organization  for 
law  and  order  was  effected,  but  the  American  in- 
stinct for  fair  play  and  for  a  hearing  prevailed, 
so  that  while  there  was  not  mob  law,  the  law  of 
self-preservation  asserted  itself,  and  the  man- 
dates of  the  level-headed  old  men  prevailed,  "a 
high  court  from  which  there  is  no  appeal,"  but 
"a  high  court  in  the  most  exalted  sense ;  a  senate 
composed  of  the  ablest  and  most  respected  fath- 
ers of  the  emigration,  exercising  both  legislative 


i&  THE  OX   TEAM   OU 

and  judicial  power;  and  its  laws  and  decisions 
proved  equal  and  worthy  of  the  high  trust  reposed 
in  it."  So  tersely  described  by  Applegate  as  to 
conditions  when  the  first  great  train  moved  out 
on  the  Plains  in  1843,  that  I  quote  his  words  as 
describing  conditions  in  1852.  There  was  this 
difference,  however,  in  the  emigration  of  1843 — 
all,  by  an  agreement,  belonged  to  one  or  the  other 
of  the  two  companies,  the  "cow  column"  or  the 
"light  brigade,"  while  with  the  emigrants  of  1852 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  more  than  half  did  not  be- 
long to  large  companies,  or  one  might  say  any 
organized  company  at  all.  But  this  made  no 
difference,  for  when  an  occasion  called  for  action 
a  "high  court"  was  convened,  and  woe  betide  the 
man  that  would  undertake  to  defy  its  mandates 
after  its  deliberations  were  made  public. 

CAPITAL  PUNISHMENT. 

One  incident,  well  up  on  the  Sweetwater,  will 
illustrate  the  spirit  and  determination  of  the 
sturdy  old  men  (elderly  I  should  say,  as  no 
young  men  were  allowed  to  sit  in  these  councils) 
of  the  Plains,  while  laboring  under  stress  of 
grave  personal  cares  and  with  many  personal  be- 
reavements.   A  murder  had  been  committed,  and 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  43 

it  was  clear  the  motive  was  robbery.  The  sus- 
pect had  a  large  family,  and  was  traveling  along 
with  the  moving  column.  Men  had  volunteered 
to  search  for  the  missing  man  and  finally  found 
the  proof  pointing  to  the  guilty  man.  A  council 
of  twelve  men  was  called  and  deliberated  until 
the  second  day,  meanwhile  holding  the  murderer 
safely  within  their  grip.  What  were  they  to  do? 
Here  was  a  wife  and  four  little  children  depend- 
ent upon  this  man  for  their  lives;  what  would 
become  of  this  man's  family  if  justice  was  meted 
out  to  him?  Soon  there  came  an  undercurrent 
of  what  might  be  termed  public  opinion — that  it 
was  probably  better  to  forego  punishment  than 
to  endanger  the  lives  of  the  family ;  but  the  coun- 
cil would  not  be  swerved  from  their  resolution, 
and  at  sundown  of  the  third  day  the  criminal 
was  hung  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  camp,  in- 
cluding the  family,  but  not  until  ample  provi- 
sions had  been  made  to  insure  the  safety  of  the 
family  by  providing  a  driver  to  finish  the  jour- 
ney. I  came  so  near  seeing  this  that  I  did  see 
the  ends  of  the  wagon  tongues  in  the  air  and  the 
rope  dangling  in  the  air,  but  I  have  forgottien 
the  names  of  the  parties,  and  even  if  I  had  not, 
would  be  loath  to  make  them  public. 


THE   OX   TEAM  OB 

From  necessity,  murder  was  punishable  with 
death;  but  stealing,  by  a  tacit  understanding, 
with  Avhipping,  which,  when  inflicted  by  one  of 
those  long  ox  lashes  in  the  hands  of  an  expert, 
was  a  terrible  castigation,  as  the  sting  of  the  lash 
would  bring  the  blood  from  the  victim's  back  at 
every  stroke.  Minor  offenses  or  differences  gen- 
erally took  the  form  of  an  arbitration,  the  deci- 
sion of  which  each  party  would  abide  as  if  ema- 
nating from  a  court  of  law. 

Lawlessness  was  not  common  on  the  Plains, 
no  more  so  than  in  the  communities  from  which 
the  great  body  of  the  emigrants  had  been  drawn, 
and  in  fact  we  may  safely  say  not  so  much,  as 
punishment  was  swift  and  certain,  and  that  fact 
had  its  deterent  effect.  But  the  great  body  of 
the  emigrants  were  a  law-abiding  set  from  law- 
abiding  communities. 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TEAIL  45 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Ox. 

THE  OX  PASSING. 

THE  ox  is  passing;  in  fact  we  may  almost  say 
has  passed.  Like  the  old-time  spinning- 
wheel  and  the  hand  loom,  that  are  only  to  be 
seen  as  mementos  of  the  past;  or  the  quaint  old 
cobblers  bench  with  its  hand -made  lasts  and 
shoe  pegs;  or  the  heavy  iron  bubbling  mush  pot 
on  the  crane  in  the  chimney  corner;  like  the  fast 
vanishing  of  the  old-time  men  and  women  of 
fifty  years  or  more  ago — all  are  passing,  to  be 
laid  aside  for  the  new  ways  and  the  new  actors 
on  the  scenes  of  life.  While  these  ways  and  these 
scenes  and  these  actors  have  had  their  day,  yet 
their  experienres  and  the  lessons  taught  are  not 
lost  to  the  world  although  at  times  almost 
forgotten. 

The  difference  between  a  civilized  and  an  un- 
tutored people  lies  in  the  application  of  these 
experiences;  while  the  one  builds  upon  the  foun- 
dations of  the  past,  which  engenders  hope  and 
ambition  for  the  future,  the  other  has  no  past 


46  THE  OX  TEAM   OB 

nor  aspirations  for  the  future.  As  reverence  for 
the  past  dies  out  in  the  breasts  of  a  generation, 
so  likewise  patriotism  wanes.  In  the  measure 
that  the  love  of  the  history  of  the  past  dies,  so 
likewise  do  the  higher  aspirations  for  the  future. 
To  keep  the  tlame  of  patriotism  alive  we  have 
only  to  keep  the  memory  of  the  past  vividly  in 
mind. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  PEACE. 

Bearing  these  thoughts  in  mind,  this  expedi- 
tion to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  old  Oregon 
Trail  was  undertaken.  And  there  was  this  fur- 
ther thought,  that  here  was  this  class  of  heroic 
men  and  women  who  fought  a  veritable  battle, — 
a  battle  of  peace  to  be  sure,  yet  as  brave  a  battle 
as  any  by  those  that  faced  the  cannon's  mouth; 
a  battle  that  was  fraught  with  as  momentous 
results  as  any  of  the  great  battles  of  grim  war; 
a  battle  that  wrested  half  a  continent  from  the 
native  race  and  from  a  mighty  nation  contend- 
ing for  mastery  in  the  unknown  regions  of  the 
West,  whose  fame  was  scantily  acknowledged  and 
whose  name  was  already  almost  forgotten,  and 
whose  track,  the  battle-ground  of  peace,  was  on 
the  verge  of  impending  oblivion.    Shall  this  be- 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  47 

come  an  accomplished  fact?  The  answer  to  this 
is  this  ex]3edition,  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 
the  old  Oregon  Trail,  and  to  honor  the  intrepid 
pioneers  who  made  it  and  saved  this  great  region, 
the  old  Oregon  country,  for  American  rule. 

The  ox  team  did  it.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
patient  ox  with  the  wagon  train,  the  preponder- 
ance of  an  American  settlement  in  the  old  Oregon 
country  over  that  of  the  British  could  not  have 
so  certainly  prevailed;  and  in  fact  uncertainty 
hovered  over  the  land  with  results  hanging  in 
the  balance  until  that  first  wagon  train  reached 
the  region  of  contending  forces. 


THE   OLD   OUEGON   TIU1I4  4tt 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Ox  Team  Brigade  and  the  Cow 
Column. 

EMIGRATION  OP  1843 

SIXTY-THREE  years  ago  (1843)  a  company 
numbering  nearly  one  thousand  strong,  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  with  over  five  thou- 
sand cattle,  guided  by  such  intrepid  men  as  Peter 
Burnett  (afterwards  first  governor  of  Califor- 
nia), Jesse  Applegate,  always  a  first  citizen  in 
the  community  where  he  had  cast  his  lot,  and 
James  W.  Nesbitt,  afterwards  one  of  the  first 
senators  from  the  state  of  Oregon,  made  their 
way  with  ox  and  cow  teams  toilsomely  up  the 
Platte  valley,  up  the  Sweetwater,  through  the 
South  Pass  of  the  Rocky  mountains,  and  across 
rivers  to  Fort  Hall  on  the  upper  waters  of  Snake 
river.  This  far  there  had  been  a  few  traders' 
wagons  and  the  track  had  been  partially  broken 
for  this  thousand  mile  stretch.  Not  so  for  the 
remainder  of  their  journey  of  near  eight  hundred 
miles.  Not  a  wheel  had  been  turned  west  of  this 
post    (then  the  abiding  place  for  the  "watch- 


50  THE   OX  TEAM   OB 

dogs"  of  the  British,  the  Hudson  Bay  Company, 
who  cast  a  covetous  eye  upon  the  great  Oregon 
country),  except  the  Whitman  cart,  packed  a 
part  of  the  way,  but  finally  stalled  at  Fort  Boise, 
a  few  hundred  miles  to  the  west. 

This  great  company,  encouraged  and  guided 
by  Whitman,^  took  their  lives  in  their  hands  when 
they  cut  loose  from  Fort  Hall  and  headed  their 
teams  westward  over  an  almost  unexplored  re- 
gion with  only  Indians'  or  traders'  horseback 
trails  before  them  and  hundreds  of  miles  of 
mountainous  country  to  traverse. 

HORACE  GREELEY'S  OPINION. 

"For  what,"  wrote  Horace  Greeley  in  his 
paper,  the  New  York  Tribune,  July  22,  1843,  "do 
they  brave  the  desert,  the  wilderness,  the  savage, 
the  snowy  precipices  of  the  Rocky  mountains. 


*Mrs.  N.  M.  Bogart  of  Renton,  Washington,  yet  living, 
who  crossed  the  Plains  In  1843,  with  the  cow  column  of 
the  emigration  of  that  year,  recently  told  the  author  of  a 
beautiful  Incident  Illustrating  the  character  of  the  Intrepid 
missionary,  Marcus  Whitman,  on  that  memorable  trip. 
"When  we  came  to  the  crossing  of  Platte  river,  some  one 
had  to  go  ahead  of  the  teams  to  avoid  deep  holes,"  she 
related.  "I  distinctly  remember  seeing  Whitman  take  the 
front  yoke  of  cattle  to  the  front  wagon  and  wade  along- 
side of  them.  He  was  stripped  of  all  clothing  except  his 
underwear  and  prepared  to  swim,  If  need  be,  but  we  all 
crossed  in  safety  under  his  guiding  hand.  He  was  a  great, 
ernnA  mav." 


dPHE  OLiD  OttEGON   TRAIL  61 

the  weary  summer  march,  the  storm-drenched 
bivouac  and  the  gnawings  of  famine?  This  emi- 
gration of  more  than  a  thousand  persons  in  one 
body  to  Oregon  wears  an  aspect  of  insanity." 

The  answer  came  back  in  due  time,  "for  what" 
they  braved  the  dangers  of  a  trip  across  the 
Plains  to  an  almost  unknown  land,  in  petitions 
praying  for  help  to  hold  the  country  they  had, 
as  we  might  say,  seized ;  for  recognition  as  Amer- 
ican citizens  to  be  taken  under  the  fostering  care 
of  the  home  government  that  their  effort  might 
not  fail.  And  yet  five  long  years  passed  and  no 
relief  came.  An  army  had  been  assembled,  an 
Indian  war  fought,  when,  at  the  dying  moment 
of  Congress,  under  the  stress  of  public  opinion, 
aroused  by  the  atrocious  massacre  of  Whitman, 
party  passion  on  the  slavery  question  was  smoth- 
ered, the  long-looked  for  relief  came,  and  the 
Oregon  bill  was  passed.  They  had  "held  the 
Fort"  till  victory  perched  upon  their  banner,  and 
the  foundation  was  laid  for  three  great  free  states 
to  enter  the  Union. 

No  more  heroic  deed  is  of  record  than  this,  to 
span  the  remainder  of  a  continent  by  the  wagon 
track.  Failure  meant  intense  suffering  to  all 
and  death  to  many.    There  was  no  retreat.    They 


52  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

had,  in  a  figurative  sense,  "burned  their  bridges 
behind  them."    Go  on  they  must,  or  perish. 

CAUSE  THAT  SAVED  OREGON  FROM  BRITISH 
RULE. 

When  this  train  safely  arrived,  the  preponder- 
ance of  the  American  settlers  was  so  great  that 
there  was  no  more  question  as  to  who  should 
temporarily  possess  the  Oregon  country.  An 
American  provisional  government  was  immedi- 
ately organized,  the  British  rule  was  challenged, 
and  Oregon  was  "saved,"  and  gave  three  great 
states  to  the  Union,^  and  a  large  part  of  two 
more. 

Other  ox  team  brigades  came.  Fourteen  hun- 
dred people  in  1844  followed  the  track  made  in 
1843,  and  three  thousand  in  1845,  and  on  August 
15  of  that  year  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  ac- 
cepted the  protection  of  the  provisional  govern- 
ment and  paid  taxes  to  its  officers. 

Shall  we  let  the  memory  of  such  men  and 
women  smolder  in  our  minds  and  sink  into  ob- 
livion? Shall  we  refuse  to  recognize  their  great 
courageous  acts  and  fail  to  do  honor  to  their 


>Tho  first  attempt  to  form  an  American  provi- 
elonal  government  only  prevailed  by  one  majority  and 
finally  fall  because  of  the  lack  of  American  preponderance. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  53 

memory?  We  erect  monuments  to  commemorate 
the  achievements  of  grim  war  and  to  mark  the 
bloody  battlefields;  then  why  shall  we  not  honor 
those  who  went  out  to  the  battle  of  the  Plains? 
— a  battle  of  peace,  to  be  sure,  yet  a  battle  that 
called  for  as  heroic  deeds  and  for  as  great  sacri- 
fice as  any  of  war  and  fraught  with  as  momentous 
results  as  the  most  sanguinary  battles  of  history. 
The  people  that  held  Oregon  with  such  firm  grip 
till  the  sacrifice  came  that  ended  all  contention 
deserve  a  tender  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  citizens 
of  this  great  commonwealth. 

A  glimpse  into  the  life  of  the  struggling  mass 
of  the  first  wagon  train  is  both  interesting  and 
useful,  interesting  in  the  study  of  social  life  of 
the  past,  and  useful  from  an  historical  point  of 
view. 

JESSE  APPLEGATE'S  EPIC. 

Jesse  Applegate,  leader  of  the  "cow  column,'' 
after  the  division  into  two  companies,  many 
years  afterwards  wrote  of  the  trip,  and  his  ac- 
count has  been  published  and  republished  and 
may  be  found  in  full  in  the  Oregon  Historical 
Quarterly.  His  writing  is  accepted  as  classic, 
and  his  facts,  from  first  hands,  as  true  to  the 
letter. 


54  THE  OX   TEAM    OB 

Portraying  the  scenes  with  the  "cow  column" 
for  one  day  he  wrote: 

"It  is  4:00  o'clock  A.M.;  the  sentinels  on  duty 
have  discharged  their  rifles — the  signal  that  the 
hours  of  sleep  are  over — and  every  wagon  and 
tent  is  pouring  forth  its  night  tenants,  and  slow 
kindling  smokes  begin  lazily  to  rise  and  float 
away  in  the  morning  air.  Sixty  men  start  from 
the  corral,  spreading  as  they  make  through  the 
vast  herd  of  cattle  and  horses  that  make  a  semi- 
circle around  the  encampment,  the  most  distant 
perhaps  two  miles  away. 

"The  herders  pass  the  extreme  verge  and  care- 
fully examine  for  trails  beyond  to  see  that  none 
of  the  animals  have  strayed  or  been  stolen  dur- 
ing the  night.  This  morning  no  trails  lead  be 
yond  the  outside  animals  in  sight,  and  by  five 
o'clock  the  herders  begin  to  contract  the  great 
moving  circle,  and  the  well-trained  animals  move 
slowly  towards  camp,  clipping  here  and  there  a 
thistle  or  a  tempting  bunch  of  grass  on  the  way. 
In  about  an  hour  five  thousand  animals  are  close 
up  to  the  encampment,  and  the  teamsters  are 
busy  selecting  their  teams  and  driving  them  in- 
side the  corral  to  be  yoked.  The  corral  is  a  circle 
one  hundred  yards  deep  formed  with  wagons  con- 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  55 

nected  strongly  with  each  other;  the  wagon  in 
the  rear  being  connected  with  the  wagon  in  front 
by  its  tongue  and  ox  chains.  It  is  a  strong  bar- 
rier that  the  most  vicious  ox  can  not  break,  and 
in  case  of  attack  from  the  Sioux  would  be  no 
contemptible  intrenchment. 

"^From  6:00  to  7:00  o'clock  is  the  busy  time; 
breakfast  is  to  be  eaten,  the  tents  struck,  the 
wagons  loaded  and  the  teams  yoked  and  brought 
up  in  readiness  to  be  attached  to  their  respective 
wagons.  All  know  when,  at  7:00  o'clock,  the 
signal  to  march  sounds,  that  those  not  ready  to 
take  their  places  in  the  line  of  march  must  fall 
into  the  dusty  rear  for  the  day.  There  are  sixty 
wagons.  They  have  been  divided  into  fifteen  di- 
visions or  platoons  of  four  wagons  each,  and 
each  platoon  is  entitled  to  lead  in  its  turn.  The 
leading  platoon  today  will  be  the  rear  one  to- 
morrow, and  will  bring  up  the  rear,  unless  some 
teamster,  through  indolence  or  negligence,  has 
lost  his  place  in  the  line,  and  is  condemned  to 
that  uncomfortable  post.  It  is  within  ten  min- 
utes of  7:00;  the  corral,  but  now  a  strong  bar- 
ricade, is  everywhere  broken,  the  teams  being 
attached  to  the  wagons.  The  women  and  chil- 
dren have  taken  their  places  in  them.    The  pilot 


56  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

(a  borderer  who  has  passed  his  life  on  the  verge 
of  civilization,  and  has  been  chosen  to  his  post 
of  leader  from  his  knowledge  of  the  savage  and 
his  experience  in  travel  through  roadless  wastes) 
stands  ready,  in  the  midst  of  his  pioneers  and 
aids,  to  mount  and  lead  the  way.  Ten  or  fifteen 
young  men,  not  today  on  duty,  form  another 
cluster.  They  are  ready  to  start  on  a  buffalo 
hunt,  are  well  mounted  and  well  armed,  as  they 
need  to  be,  for  the  unfriendly  Sioux  has  driven 
the  buffalo  out  of  the  Platte,  and  the  hunters 
must  ride  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  to  find  them. 
The  cow  drivers  are  hastening,  as  they  get  ready, 
to  the  rear  of  their  charge,  to  collect  and  prepare 
them  for  the  day's  march. 

"It  is  on  the  stroke  of  7:00;  the  rush  to  and 
fro,  the  cracking  of  whips,  the  loud  command 
to  oxen,  and  what  seemed  to  be  the  inextricable 
confusion  of  the  last  ten  minutes  has  ceased. 
Fortunately  every  one  has  been  found  and  every 
teamster  is  at  his  post.  The  clear  notes  of  a 
trumpet  sound  in  the  front;  the  pilot  and  his 
guards  mount  their  horses ;  the  leading  divisions 
of  the  wagons  move  out  of  the  encampment,  and 
take  up  the  line  of  march ;  the  rest  fall  into  their 
places  with  the  precision  of  clock-work,  until  the 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  67 

spot  SO  lately  full  of  life  sinks  back  into  that 
solitude  that  seems  to  reign  over  the  broad  plain 
and  rushing  river  as  the  caravan  draws  its  lazy 
length  towards  the  distant  El  Dorado. 

"The  pilot,  by  measuring  the  ground  and  tim- 
ing the  speed  of  the  horses,  has  determined  the 
rate  of  each,  so  as  to  enable  him  to  select  the 
nooning  place  as  nearly  as  the  requisite  grass 
and  water  can  be  had  at  the  end  of  five  hours' 
travel  of  the  wagons.  Today,  the  ground  being 
favorable,  little  time  has  been  lost  in  preparing 
the  road,  so  that  he  and  his  pioneers  are  at  the 
nooning  place  an  hour  in  advance  of  the  wagons, 
which  time  is  spent  in  preparing  convenient 
watering  places  for  the  animals,  and  digging  lit- 
tle wells  near  the  bank  of  the  Platte.  As  the 
teams  are  not  unyoked,  but  simply  turned  loose 
from  the  wagons,  a  corral  is  not  formed  at  noon, 
but  the  wagons  are  drawn  up  in  columns,  four 
abreast,  the  leading  wagon  of  each  platoon  on 
the  left,  the  platoons  being  formed  with  that  in 
view.  This  brings  friends  together  at  noon  as 
well  as  at  night. 

"Today  an  extra  session  of  the  council  is  being 
held,  to  settle  a  dispute  that  does  not  admit  of 
delay,  between  a  proprietor  and  a  young  man 


58  THE   OX  TEAM  OB 

who  has  undertaken  to  do  a  man's  service  on  the 
journey  for  bed  and  board.  Many  such  cases 
exist,  and  much  interest  is  taken  in  the  manner 
in  which  this  high  court,  from  which  there  is  no 
appeal,  will  define  the  rights  of  each  party  in 
such  engagements.  The  council  was  a  high  court 
in  the  most  exalted  sense.  It  was  a  senate  com- 
posed of  the  ablest  and  most  respected  fathers 
of  the  emigration.  It  exercised  both  legislative 
and  judicial  powers,  and  its  laws  and  decisions 
proved  equal,  and  worthy  of  the  high  trust  re- 
posed in  it.     .    .    . 

"It  is  now  one  o'clock;  the  bugle  has  sounded 
and  the  caravan  has  resumed  its  westward  jour- 
ney. It  is  in  the  same  order,  but  the  evening  is 
far  less  animated  than  the  morning  march.  A 
drowsiness  has  fallen  apparently  on  man  and 
beast;  teamsters  drop  asleep  on  their  perches, 
and  the  words  of  command  are  now  addressed  to 
the  slowly  creeping  oxen  in  the  soft  tenor  of 
women  or  the  piping  treble  of  children,  while  the 
snores  of  the  teamsters  make  a  droning  accom- 
paniment.    .    .     . 

"The  sun  is  now  getting  low  in  the  west,  and 
at  length  the  painstaking  pilot  is  standing  ready 
to  conduct  the  train  in  the  circle  which  he  has 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  §9 

Dieviously  measured  and  marked  out,  which  is  to  form 
the  invariable  fortification  for  the  night.  The  leading 
wagons  follow  him  so  nearly  around  the  circle  that  but 
a  wagon  length  separates  them.  Each  wagon  follows 
in  its  track,  the  rear  closing  on  the  front,  until  its 
tongue  and  ox  chains  will  perfectly  reach  from  one  to 
the  other ;  and  so  accurate  [is]  the  measure  and  perfect 
the  practice  that  the  hindmost  wagon  of  the  train 
always  precisely  closes  the  gateway.  As  each  wagon 
is  brought  into  position  it  is  dropped  from  the  team 
(the  teams  being  inside  the  circle),  the  team  is  un- 
yoked, and  the  yoke  and  chains  are  used  to  connect  the 
wagon  strongly  with  that  in  its  front.  Within  ten 
minutes  from  the  time  the  leading  wagon  halted,  the 
barricade  is  formed,  the  teams  unyoked  and  driven 
out  to  pasture.  Everyone  is  busy  preparing  fires 
.     .     .     to  cook  the  evening  meal,  pitching  tents  and 

otherwise  preparing  for  the  night 

The  watches  begin  at  8:00  o'clock  p.  M.  and  end  at 
4:00  a.  m." 


60  THE   OX   TEAM  OB 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Life  on  the  Plains. 
OPENING  THE  ROAD 

THE  reader  will  note,  "To-day,  the  ground 
being  favorable,  little  time  has  been  lost 
in  preparing  the  road,''  showing  the  arduous  task 
before  them  in  road  making.  The  search  for  the 
best  route  to  avoid  steep  pitches  or  rocky  points 
or  high  sage  brush  required  constant  vigilance 
on  the  part  of  the  "pioneers"  whose  duty,  with 
the  pilot,  was  to  spy  out  and  prepare  the  way 
for  the  caravan  to  follow.  At  the  noon  hour,  I 
note,  "As  the  teams  are  not  unyoked,  but  simply 
turned  loose  from  the  wagon,  a  corral  is  not 
formed,"  a  cruel  practice  I  frequently  saw  in 
1852.  It  is  with  pride  I  can  write  that  neither 
Buck  and  Dandy  in  1852,  nor  Twist  and  Dave  in 
1906,  ever  stood  with  the  yoke  on  while  I 
lunched,  and  that  the  former  were  in  better  con- 
dition when  the  trip  was  ended  than  when  they 
started,  even  though  they  were  at  the  start  un- 
broken steers.  Twist  and  Dave  have  come 
through  the  ordeal  in  as  good  condition  as  at  the 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  61 

start,  until  Twist  was  poisoned  and  died,  al- 
though they  alone  have  brought  the  one  wagon 
(weighing  1,400  pounds)  and  its  load  all  the 
way,  a  distance  of  nearly  1,700  miles. 

A  word  as  to  the  rules  of  the  expedition  just 
completed.  Long  before  the  summer  solstice,  the 
alarm  clock  was  set  at  4:00,  breakfast  over  by 
5 :00,  and  the  start  usually  made  by  6 :00  o'clock. 
We  always  took  a  long  nooning  hour,  and  if 
warm,  several  hours,  and  then  traveled  late,  mak- 
ing from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  miles  a  day,  aver- 
aging seventeen  and  a  half  miles  for  traveling 
days.    Slow,  you  will  say.    Yes ;  slow  but  sure. 

MODE  OP  TRAVEL  IN  1852. 

And  now  as  to  Qur  mode  of  travel  in  1852.  I 
did  not  enter  an  organized  company,  neither 
could  I  travel  alone.  Four  wagons,  with  nine 
men,  by  a  tacit  agreement,  traveled  together  for 
a  thousand  miles,  and  separated  only  when  our 
roads  parted,  the  one  to  California  and  the  other 
to  Oregon.  And  yet  we  were  all  the  while  in  one 
great  train,  never  out  of  the  sight  or  hearing  of 
others.  In  fact,  at  times  the  road  would  be  so 
full  of  wagons  that  all  could  not  travel  in  one 
track,  and  this  fact  accounts  for  the  double  road- 


r>2  THE  ox   TEAM   OB 

beds  seen  in  so  many  places  on  the  trail.  One  of 
the  party  always  went  ahead  to  look  out  for 
water,  grass,  and  fuel,  three  requisites  for  a  camp- 
ing place.  The  grass  along  the  beaten  track  was 
always  eaten  oil"  close  by  the  loose  stock,  of  which 
there  were  great  numbers,  and  so  we  had  fre- 
quently to  take  the  cattle  long  distances.  Then 
came  the  most  trying  part  of  the  whole  trip — the 
all-night  watch,  which  resulted  in  our  making 
the  cattle  our  bedfellows,  back  to  back  for 
warmth;  for  signal  as  well,  to  get  up  if  the  ox 
did.  It  was  not  long  though  till  we  were  used 
to  it,  and  slept  quite  a  bit  except  when  a  storm 
struck  us ;  well,  then  it  was,  to  say  the  least,  not 
a  pleasure  outing.  But  weren't  we  glad  when 
the  morning  came,  and  perchance  the  smoke  of 
the  campfire  might  be  in  sight,  and  maybe,  as  we 
approached,  we  could  catch  the  aroma  of  the 
coffee.  And  then  such  tender  greetings  and  such 
thoughtful  care  that  would  have  touched  a  heart 
of  stone,  and  to  us  seemed  like  a  paradise.  We 
were  supremely  iappy. 

ABANDONED  PROPERTY. 

People  too  often  brought  their  own  ills  upon 
themselves  by  their  indiscreet  action,  especially 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  63 

in  the  loss  of  their  teams.  The  trip  had  not  pro- 
gressed far  till  there  came  a  universal  outcry 
against  the  heavy  loads  and  unnecessary  articles, 
and  soon  we  begun  to  see  abandoned  property. 
First  it  might  be  a  table  or  a  cupboard  or  per- 
chance a  bedstead  or  a  heavy  cast-iron,  cook- 
stove.  Then  began  to  be  seen  bedding  by  the 
wayside,  feather  beds,  blankets,  quilts,  pillows, 
everything  of  the  kind  that  mortal  man  might 
want.  Not  so  very  long  till  here  and  there  an 
abandoned  wagon  was  to  be  seen,  provisions, 
stacks  of  flour,  and  bacon  being  the  most  abun- 
dant, all  left  as  common  property.  Help  your- 
self if  you  will,  no  one  will  interfere,  and  in  fact 
in  some  places  a  sign  was  posted  inviting  all  to 
take  what  they  wanted.  Hundreds  of  wagons 
were  left  and  hundreds  of  tons  of  goods.  People 
seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  to  give  away  their 
property,  there  being  no  chance  to  sell,  and  they 
disliked  to  destroy.  Long  after  the  mania  for 
getting  rid  of  goods  and  lightening  the  load  the 
abandonment  of  wagons  continued,  as  the  teams 
became  weaker  (generally  from  abuse  or  lack  of 
care),  and  the  ravages  of  cholera  struck  us.  It 
was  then  that  many  lost  their  heads  and  ruined 
their  teams  by  furious  driving,  by  lack  of  care, 
6 


64  THE   OX   TEAM   OE 

and  by  abuse.  There  came  a  veritable  stampede, 
a  strife  for  possession  of  the  road,  to  see  who 
should  get  ahead.  Whole  trains  with  bad  blood 
would  strive  for  mastery  of  the  road,  one  at- 
tempting to  pass  the  other,  frequently  with 
drivers  on  each  side  the  team  to  urge  the  poor, 
suffering  dumb  brutes  forward, 

THE  CHOLERA. 

"What  shall  we  do?''  passed  from  one  to  an- 
other in  our  little  family  council. 

"Now,  fellers,"  said  McAuley,  "do  n't  lose  your 
heads,  but  do  just  as  you  have  been  doing;  you 
gals,  just  make  your  bread  as  light  as  ever,  and 
we'll  boil  the  water  and  take  river  water  the 
same  as  ever,  even  if  it  is  almost  thick  as  mud." 

We  had  all  along  refused  to  "dig  little  wells 
near  the  bank  of  the  Platte,"  as  noted  by  Apple- 
gate  in  his  quoted  article,  having  soon  learned 
that  the  water  obtained  was  strongly  charged 
with  alkali,  while  the  river  water  was  compara- 
tively pure  other  than  the  fine  impalpable  sand, 
so  fine,  one  might  almost  say,  as  to  be  held  in 
solution. 

"Keep  cool,"  he  continued ;  "maybe  we  '11  have 
to  lay  down,  and  maybe  not.    Anyway,  it's  no 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  65 

use  a  frettin'.  What 's  to  be  will  be,  specially  if 
we  but  help  things  along." 

This  homely  wise  counsel  fell  upon  willing 
ears,  as  most  all  were  already  of  the  same  mind, 
and  we  did,  "just  as  we  had  been  doing,"  and 
escaped  unharmed. 

I  look  back  on  that  party  of  nine  men  and  three 
women  (and  a  baby)  with  four  wagons  with  feel- 
ings almost  akin  to  reverence. 

Thomas  McAuley  became  by  natural  selection 
the  leader  of  the  party  although  no  agreement 
of  the  kind  was  ever  made.  He  was,  next  to  his 
maiden  sister,  the  oldest  of  the  party,  a  most 
fearless  man  and  never  "lost  his  head,"  whatever 
the  emergency  might  arise,  and  I  have  been  in 
some  pretty  tight  places  with  him.  While  he 
was  the  oldest,  I  was  the  youngest  of  the  men 
folks  of  the  party,  and  the  only  married  man  of 
the  lot,  and  if  I  do  have  to  say  it  myself,  the 
strongest  and  ablest  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
work  (pardon  me,  reader,  when  I  add  and  will- 
ing according  to  my  strength,  for  it  is  true),  and 
so  we  got  along  well  together  till  the  parting  of 
the  way  came.  This  spirit,  though,  pervaded  the 
whole  camp  both  with  the  men  and  women  folks 
to  the  end.    Thomas  McAuley  still  lives,  at  Ho- 


66  THE   OX  TEAM   OB 

bart  Mills,  California,  or  did  but  a  couple  of 
years  ago  when  I  last  heard  from  him,  a  respected 
citizen.  He  has  long  ago  passed  the  eighty -year 
mark,  and  has  not  "laid  down"  yet. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY. 

Did  space  but  permit  I  would  like  to  tell  more 
in  detail  of  the  members  of  that  little  happy 
party  (family  we  called  ourselves),  camped  near 
the  bank  of  the  Platte  when  the  fury  of  that 
great  epidemic  burst  upon  us,  but  I  can  only 
make  brief  mention.  William  Buck,  my  partner, 
a  noble  man,  has  long  ago  "laid  down."  Always 
scrupulously  neat  and  cleanly,  always  ready  to 
cater  to  the  wants  of  his  companions  and  as 
honest  as  the  day  is  long,  he  has  ever  held  a  ten- 
der place  in  my  heart.  It  was  Buck  that  se- 
lected our  nice  little  outfit  complete  in  every 
part,  so  that  we  did  not  throw  away  a  pound  of 
provisions  nor  need  to  purchase  any.  The  water 
can  was  in  the  wagon,  of  sufficient  capacity  to 
supply  our  wants  for  a  day,  and  a  "sup"  for  the 
oxen  and  cows  besides.  The  milk  can  stood  near 
by  and  always  yielded  up  its  lump  of  butter  at 
nip:ht,  churned  by  the  movement  of  the  wagon 
from  the  surplus  morning's  milk.    The  yeast  cake 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  67 

SO  thoughtfully  provided  by  the  little  wife  ever 
brought  forth  sweet,  light  bread  baked  in  that 
tin  reflector  before  the  "chip''  (buffalo)  fire. 
That  reflector  and  those  yeast  cakes  were  a  great 
factor  conducive  to  our  health.  Small  things, 
to  be  sure,  but  great  as  to  results.  Instead  of 
saleratus  biscuit,  bacon,  and  beans  we  had  the 
light  bread  and  fruit  with  fresh  meats  and  rice 
pudding  far  out  on  the  Plains,  until  our  supply 
of  eggs  became  exhausted. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  party,  brother  Oliver 
"laid  down"  forty-five  years  ago,  but  his  memory 
is  still  green  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him. 
Margaret  McAuley  died  a  few  years  after  reach- 
ing California.  Like  her  brother,  she  was  reso- 
lute and  resourceful  and  almost  like  a  mother  to 
the  younger  sister  and  the  young  little  wife  and 
baby.  And  such  a  baby!  If  one  were  to  judge 
by  the  actions  of  all  members  of  that  camp,  the 
conclusion  would  be  reached  there  was  no  other 
such  on  earth.  All  seemed  rejoiced  to  know 
there  was  a  baby  in  camp; — ^young  (only  seven 
weeks  old  when  we  started),  but  strong  and  grew 
apace  as  the  higher  altitude  was  reached. 

Eliza,  the  younger  sister,  a  type  of  the  healthy, 
handsome  American  girl,  graceful  and  modest, 


68  THE   OX  TEAM  OB 

became  the  center  of  attraction  upon  which  a 
romance  might  be  written,  but  as  the  good  elderly 
ladj  still  lives,  the  time  has  not  yet  come,  and  so 
we  must  draw  the  veil. 

Of  the  two  Davenport  brothers,  Jacob,  the 
youngest,  took  sick  at  Soda  Springs,  was  con- 
fined to  the  wagon  for  more  than  eight  hundred 
miles  down  Snake  river  in  that  intolerable  dust, 
and  finally  died  soon  after  we  arrived  in 
Portland. 

John,  the  elder  brother,  always  fretful,  but 
willing  to  do  his  part,  has  passed  out  of  my 
knowledge.  Both  came  of  respected  parents  on 
an  adjoining  farm  to  that  of  my  own  home  near 
Indianapolis,  but  I  have  lost  all  trace  of  them. 

Perhaps  the  general  reader  may  not  take  even 
a  passing  interest  in  this  little  party  (family) 
here  described.  I  can  only  say  that  this  was 
typical  of  many  such  on  the  Trail  of  '52.  The 
McAuleys  or  P»uck  and  others  of  our  party  could 
be  duplicated  in  larger  or  smaller  parties  all 
along  the  line.  There  were  hundreds  of  noble 
men  trudging  up  the  Platte  at  that  time  in  an 
army  over  five  hundred  miles  long,  many  of  whom 
"laid  down,"  a  sacrifice  to  duty,  or  maybe  to  in- 
herent weakness  of  their  systems.     While  it  is 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  69 

true  such  an  experience  brings  out  the  worst  fea- 
tures of  individual  characters,  yet  it  is  neverthe- 
less true  the  shining  virtues  come  to  the  front 
likewise;  like  pure  gold,  is  often  found  where 
least  expected. 

HEROIC  PIONEER  WOMAN. 

Of  the  fortitude  of  the  women  one  can  not  say 
too  much.  Embarrassed  at  the  start  by  the  fol- 
lies of  fashion  (and  long  dresses  Avhich  were 
quickly  discarded  and  the  bloomer  donned),  they 
soon  rose  to  the  occasion  and  cast  false  modesty 
aside.  Could  we  but  have  had  the  camera  (of 
course  not  then  in  existence)  on  one  of  those 
typical  camps,  what  a  picture  there  would  be. 
Elderly  matrons  dressed  almost  as  like  the  little 
sprite  miss  of  tender  years  of  to-day.  The 
younger  women  more  shy  of  accepting  the  in- 
evitable, but  finally  fell  into  the  procession,  and 
we  had  a  community  of  women  wearing  bloomers 
without  invidious  comment,  or  in  fact  of  any 
comment  at  all.  Some  of  them  soon  went  bare- 
foot, partly  from  choice  and  in  other  cases  from 
necessity.  The  same  could  be  said  of  the  men,  as 
shoe  leather  began  to  grind  out  from  the  sand 
and  drv  heat.    Of  all  the  fantastic  costumes  it  k 


70  THE  OX   TEAM   OE 

safe  to  say  the  like  before  was  never  seen  nor 
equaled.  The  scene  beggars  description.  Patches 
became  visible  upon  the  clothing  of  preachers  as 
well  as  laymen;  the  situation  brooked  no  re- 
spect of  persons.  The  grandmother's  cap  was 
soon  displaced  by  a  handkerchief  or  perhaps  a 
bit  of  cloth.  Grandfather's  high  crowned  hat  dis- 
appeared as  if  by  magic.  Hatless  and  bootless 
men  became  a  common  sight.  Bonnetless  women 
were  to  be  seen  on  all  sides.  They  wore  what 
they  had  left  or  could  get  without  question  of  the 
fitness  of  things.  Rich  dresses  were  worn  by 
some  ladies  because  they  had  no  others  left;  the 
gentlemen  drew  on  their  wardrobes  till  scarcely 
a  fine  unsoiled  suit  was  left. 

HARDSHIPS. 

The  dust  has  been  spoken  of  as  intolerable. 
The  word  hardly  expresses  the  situation ;  in  fact, 
I  can  not  say  the  English  language  contains  the 
word  to  define  it.  Here  was  a  moving  mass  of 
humanity  and  dumb  brutes  at  times  mixed  in 
inextricable  confusion  a  hundred  feet  wide  or 
more.  At  times  two  columns  of  wagons  travel- 
ing on  parallel  lines  and  near  each  other  served 
as  a  barrier  to  prevent  loose  stock  from  crossing, 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  71 

but  usually  there  would  be  an  almost  inextricable 
mass  of  cows,  young  cattle,  horses,  and  footmen 
moving  along  the  outskirts.  Here  and  there 
would  be  the  drivers  of  loose  stock,  some  on  foot 
and  some  on  horseback ;  a  young  girl  maybe  rid- 
ing astride  with  a  younger  child  behind,  going 
here  and  there  after  an  intractible  cow,  while  the 
mother  could  be  seen  in  the  confusion  lending  a 
helping  hand.  As  in  a  thronged  city  street,  no 
one  seemed  to  look  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  or 
pay  much  if  any  attention  to  others,  bent  alone 
on  accomplishment  of  their  task  in  hand.  Over 
all,  in  calm  weather  at  times  the  dust  would  set- 
tle so  thick  that  the  lead  team  of  oxen  could  not 
be  seen  from  the  wagon;  like  a  London  fog,  so 
thick  one  might  almost  cut  it.^  Then  again,  that 
steady  flow  of  wind  up  to  and  through  the  South 
Pass  would  hurl  the  dust  and  sand  in  one's  face 
sometimes  with  force  enough  to  sting  from  the 
impact  upon  the  face  and  hands. 

Then  we  had  storms  that  were  not  of  sand  and 
wind  alone;  storms  that  only  a  Platte  valley  in 


*Tlie  author  spent  four  winters  in  London  on  the  world's 
hop  market,  and  perhaps  has  a  more  vivid  recollection  of 
what  is  meant  by  a  London  fog  than  would  be  understood 
by  the  general  reader.  I  have  seen  the  fog  and  smoke 
there  so  black  that  one  could  not  see  his  hand  held  at 
arm's  length,  and  it  reminded  me  of  some  of  the  scenes  of  the 
dnst  on  the  Plains. 


72  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

summer  or  a  Puget  Sound  winter  might  turn 
out;  storms  tliat  would  wet  to  the  skin  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  write  this  sentence.  One 
such  I  remember  being  caught  in  while  out  on 
watch.  The  cattle  traveled  so  fast  it  was  difficult 
to  keep  up  with  them.  I  could  do  nothing  else 
than  follow,  as  it  would  have  been  as  impossible 
to  turn  them  as  it  would  have  been  to  change  the 
direction  of  the  wind.  I  have  alwajs  thought  of 
this  as  a  cloudburst.  Anyway,  there  was  not  a 
dry  thread  left  on  me  in  an  incredibly  short  time. 
My  boots  were  as  full  of  water  as  if  I  had  been 
wading  over  boot-top  deep,  and  the  water  ran 
through  my  hat  as  if  it  had  been  a  sieve,  almost 
blinding  me  in  the  fury  of  wind  and  water.  Many 
tents  were  leveled,  and  in  fact  such  occurrences 
as  fallen  tents  were  not  uncommon.  One  of  our 
neighboring  trains  suffered  no  inconsiderable 
loss  by  the  sheets  of  water  on  the  ground,  float- 
ing their  camp  equipage,  ox  yokes,  and  all  loose 
articles  away;  and  they  only  narrowly  escaped 
having  a  wagon  engulfed  in  the  raging  torrent 
that  came  so  unexpectedly  upon  them.  Such 
were  some  of  the  discomforts  on  the  Plains  in 
'52. 


THE    OI.D   OREGON    TRAIL  73 

On  my  190G  trip  1  have  encountered  very  little 
dust.  In  the  early  part  of  it  we  had  some  fu- 
rious rains,  considerable  snow,  and  a  little  hail, 
but  we  had  no  watches  to  make,  no  stock  to  fol- 
low, no  fear  but  that  Twist  and  Dave  would  be 
easily  found  when  morning  came.  These  faith- 
ful oxen  soon  came  to  know  the  hand  that  fed 
them,  and  almost  invariably  would  come  to  the 
wagon  at  nightfall  for  their  nose  bags  of  rolled 
oats  or  cracked  corn.  Nevertheless,  the  trip  has 
not  been  entirely  a  picnic  and  entirely  devoid  of 
cares  and  fatigue.  Too  much  of  a  good  thing,  it 
is  said,  spoils  the  whole.  And  so  it  is  with  travel 
day  in  and  day  out,  from  week  to  week,  month  to 
month,  till  the  year  is  half  gone.  It  is,  to  say  the 
least,  "wearinV'  using  an  old-time  western  phrase 
the  reader  will  understand,  whether  he  ever 
heard  it  before  or  not.  But  to  my  friends  who 
would  have  it  that  I  was  to  encounter  untold 
hardships;  that  I  was  "going  out  on  the  Plains 
to  die";  that  I  would  never  get  back  alive — I 
conjure  such  to  sleep  soundly  and  not  let  the 
hardships  bother  them,  for  I  have  not  yet  met 
my  sick  day  for  the  fifty-four  years  since  passing 
this  great  river,  the  Missouri.  And  now  let  us 
take  up  the  thread  of  particulars  of  our  journey 
westward. 


74  THE   OX  TEAM   OB 


CHAPTER  IX. 

River  Crossings. 
WAGON  BEDS  AS  BOATS. 

N  1852  there  were  but  few  ferries  and  none  in 


I 


many  places  where  crossings  were  to  be 
made,  and  where  here  and  there  a  ferry  was  found 
the  charges  were  high,  or  perhaps  the  word  should 
be  exorbitant,  and  out  of  reach  of  a  large  ma- 
jority of  the  emigrants.  In  my  own  case,  all  my 
funds  had  been  absorbed  in  procuring  my  outfit 
at  Eddyville,  Iowa,  not  dreaming  there  would  be 
use  for  money  "on  the  Plains,"  where  there  were 
neither  supplies  nor  people.  We  soon  found  out 
our  mistake,  however,  and  became  watchful  to 
mend  matters  when  opportunity  offered.  The 
crossing  of  Snake  river,  though  late  in  the  trip, 
gave  the  opportunity. 

About  thirty  miles  below  Salmon  Falls  the 
dilemma  confronted  us  to  either  cross  the  river 
or  let  our  teams  starve  on  the  trip  down  the  river 
on  the  south  bank.  Some  trains  had  caulked 
three  wagon-beds  and  lashed  them  together  and 
were  crossing,  and  would  not  help  others  across 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  75 

for  less  than  three  to  five  dollars  a  wagon,  the 
party  swimming  their  own  stock.  If  others  could 
cross  in  wagon-beds,  why  could  I  not  do  so  like- 
wise? and  without  much  ado  all  the  old  clothing 
that  could  possibly  be  spared  was  marshaled,  tar 
buckets  ransacked,  old  chisels  and  broken  knives 
hunted  up,  and  a  veritable  boat  repairing  and 
caulking  campaign  inaugurated;  and  shortly  the 
wagon  box  rode  placidly,  even  if  not  gracefully 
on  the  turbid  waters  of  the  formidable  river.  It 
had  been  my  fortune  to  be  the  strongest  physic- 
ally of  any  of  our  little  party  of  four  men,  though 
I  would  cheerfully  accept  a  second  place 
mentally. 

My  boyhood  pranks  of  playing  and  paddling 
logs  or  old  leaky  skiffs  in  the  waters  of  White 
river  now  served  me  well,  for  I  could  row  a  boat 
even  if  I  had  never  taken  lessons  as  an  athlete. 
My  first  venture  across  Snake  river  was  with  the 
whole  of  the  wagon  gear  run  over  the  wagon  box, 
the  whole  being  gradually  worked  out  into  deep 
water.  The  load  was  so  heavy  that  a  very  small 
margin  was  left  to  prevent  the  water  from  break- 
ing over  the  sides,  and  some  actually  did  as  light 
ripples  on  the  surface  struck  the  "Mary  Jane," 
as  we  had  christened  (without  wine)  the  "craft" 


76  THE   OX  TEAM  Ott 

as  she  was  launched.  But  I  got  over  safely ;  yet 
after  that  took  lighter  loads  and  really  enjoyed 
the  novelty  of  the  work  and  the  change  from  the 
intolerable  dust  to  the  atmosphere  of  the  water. 

DOWN  SNAKE  RIVER  IN  WAGON  BOXES. 

Some  were  so  infatuated  with  the  idea  of  float- 
ing on  the  water  as  to  be  easily  persuaded  by  an 
unprincipled  trader  at  the  lower  crossing  to  dis- 
pose of  their  teams  for  a  song,  and  embark  in 
their  wagon  beds  for  a  voyage  down  the  river. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  all  such  (of  which  there 
were  a  goodly  number)  lost  everything  they  had 
and  some  their  lives,  the  survivors,  after  incred- 
ible hardships,  reaching  the  road  again  to  become 
objects  of  charity  where  separated  entirely  from 
friends.  I  knew  one  survivor,  who  yet  lives  in 
our  state,  that  was  out  seven  days  without  food 
other  than  a  scant  supply  of  berries  and  vegetable 
growth,  and  "a  few  crickets,  but  not  many,"  as  it 
was  too  laborious  to  catch  them. 

We  had  no  trouble  to  cross  the  cattle,  although 
the  river  was  wide.  Dandy  would  do  almost  any- 
thing I  asked  of  him,  so,  leading  him  to  the 
water's  edge,  with  a  little  coaxing  I  got  him  into 
swimming  water  and  guided  him  across  with  the 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  77 

wagon  bed,  while  the  others  all  followed,  having 
been  driven  into  the  deep  water  following  the 
leader.  It  seems  almost  incredible  how  pasr 
sively  obedient  cattle  will  become  after  long 
training  on  such  a  trip  in  crossing  streams. 

We  had  not  finished  crossing  when  tempting 
offers  came  from  others  to  cross  them,  but  all  of 
our  party  said  "No,  we  must  travel."  The  rule 
had  been  adopted  to  travel  some  every  day  pos- 
sible. Travel,  travel,  travel,  was  the  watchword, 
and  nothing  would  divert  us  from  that  resolu- 
tion, and  so  on  the  third  day  we  were  ready  to 
pull  out  from  the  river  with  the  cattle  rested 
from  the  enforced  detention. 

But  what  about  the  lower  crossing?  Those 
who  had  crossed  over  the  river  must  somehow  or 
another  get  back.  It  was  less  than  150 
miles  to  where  we  were  again  to  cross  back 
to  the  south  side  (left  bank)  of  the  river.  I 
could  walk  that  in  three  days,  while  it  would 
take  our  teams  ten.  Could  I  not  go  ahead,  pro- 
cure a  wagon-box  and  start  a  ferry  of  my  own? 
The  thought  prompted  an  affirmative  answer  at 
once;  so  with  a  little  food  and  a  small  blanket 
the  trip  to  the  lower  crossing  was  made.  It  may 
be  ludicrous,  but  is  true,  that  the  most  I  remem- 


78  THE  OX  TEAM   OE 

ber  about  that  trip  is  the  jack  rabbits — such 
swarms  of  them  I  had  never  seen  before  as  I  trav- 
eled down  the  Boise  valley,  and  never  expect  to 
see  the  like  again.  The  trip  was  made  in  safety, 
but  conditions  were  different.  At  the  lower 
crossing,  as  I  have  already  said,  some  were  dis- 
posing of  their  teams  and  starting  to  float  down 
the  river;  some  were  fording,  a  perilous  under- 
taking, but  most  of  them  succeeded  who  tried, 
and  besides  a  trader  whose  name  I  have  forgotten 
had  an  established  ferry  near  the  old  fort 
(Boise).  But  I  soon  obtained  the  wagon-bed 
and  was  at  work  during  all  of  the  daylight  hours 
(no  eight-hour-a-day  there)  crossing  people  till 
the  teams  came  up,  and  for  several  days  after, 
and  left  the  river  with  $110  in  my  pocket,  all  of 
which  was  gone  before  I  arrived  in  Portland, 
save  12.75. 

I  did  not  look  upon  that  work  then  other  than 
as  a  part  of  the  trip  to  do  the  best  we  could. 
None  of  us  thought  we  were  doing  a  heroic  act 
in  crossing  the  plains  and  meeting  emergencies 
as  they  arose.  In  fact,  we  did  not  think  at  all  of 
that  phase  of  the  question.  Many  have,  how- 
ever, in  later  life  looked  upon  their  achievements 
with  pardonable  pride,  and  some  in  a  vain- 
{glorious  mood  of  mind. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  79 

CHAPTER  X. 

Ravages  of  the  Cholera. 

TO  MANY  the  strain  upon  the  system  was 
great  and  suffering  intense,  and  to  such 
small  wonder  if  the  recollections  are  a  little  col- 
ored in  their  minds.  For  myself,  I  can  truly  say 
that  in  after  pioneer  life  on  Puget  Sound  there 
was  as  great  discomfort  as  on  the  Plains,  but 
neither  experience  laid  a  firm  grip  upon  me,  as 
may  be  testified  by  the  fact  that  in  all  that  ex- 
perience, on  the  Plains,  and  since,  to  the  day  of 
this  writing  never  have  I  been  a  day  sick  in  bed. 
But  I  saw  much  suffering  and  the  loss  of  life 
from  the  ravages  of  cholera  was  appalling. 
L.  B.  Rowland,  now  of  Engen,  Oregon,  recently 
told  me  of  the  experience  of  his  train  of  twenty- 
three  persons,  between  the  two  crossings  of 
Snake  river,  of  which  we  have  just  written.  Of 
the  twenty-three  that  crossed  eleven  died  before 
they  reached  the  lower  crossing.  Other  trains 
suffered,  but  probably  few  to  such  a  great  extent. 
But  all  down  the  Snake  the  dust  and  heat  were 
great.  They  were  intolerable  to  many  who  gave 
6 


80  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

way  in  despair  and  died.  The  little  young  wife, 
the  companion  now  of  so  many  years  since,  soon 
after  took  sick  and  had  to  be  carried  in  arms  up 
the  bank  of  the  Willamette  and  to  the  lodging 
house  in  Portland,  an  easy  task  for  me,  as  the 
weight  incident  to  health  was  gone  and  the  frame 
only  left. 

THE  GREAT  PANIC. 

The  scourge  of  cholera  on  the  Platte  in  1852  is 
far  beyond  my  power  of  description.  In  later 
years  I  have  witnessed  panics  on  shipboard ;  have 
experienced  the  horrors  of  the  flight  of  a  whole 
population  from  the  grasp  of  the  Indians,  but 
never  before  nor  since  such  scenes  as  those  in  the 
thickest  of  the  ravages  of  cholera.  It  did  seem 
that  people  lost  all  control  of  themselves  and  of 
others.  Whole  trains  could  be  seen  contending 
for  the  mastery  of  the  road  by  day,  and  the  power 
of  endurance  tested  to  the  utmost  both  men 
and  beast  at  night.  The  scourge  came  from  the 
south,  as  we  met  the  trains  that  crossed  the 
Platte  and  congested  the  Trail,  one  might  almost 
say,  both  day  and  night.  And  small  wonder 
when  such  scenes  occurred  as  is  related.  Mrs. 
M.  E.  Jones,  now  of  North  Yakima,  relates  that 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TEAIL  81 

forty  people  of  their  train  died  in  one  day  and 
two  nights  before  reaching  the  crossing  of  the 
Platte.  Martin  Cook  of  Newbury,  Oregon,  is  my 
authority  for  the  following:  A  family  of  seven 
persons,  the  father  known  as  "Dad  Priels,"  from 
Hartford,  Warren  county,  Iowa,  all  died  of  chol- 
era and  were  buried  in  one  grave.  He  could  not 
tell  me  the  locality  nor  the  exact  date,  but  it 
would  be  useless  to  search  for  the  graves,  as  all 
such  have  long  ago  been  leveled  by  the  passing 
of  the  hoofs  of  the  buffalo  or  domestic  stock,  or 
met  the  fate  of  hundreds  of  shallow  graves,  dese- 
crated by  the  hungry  wolves.  While  camped 
with  a  sick  brother  four  days  a  short  distance 
above  Grand  Island,  by  actual  count  of  one  day 
and  estimate  for  three,  sixteen  hundred  wagons 
passed  by,  and  a  neighboring  burial  place  grew 
from  a  few  to  fifty-two  fresh  graves. 


82  THE  OX   TEAM   OR 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition. 

TO  PERPETUATE  the  identity  of  the  Trail 
made  by  the  early  sturdy  pioneers,  the 
battle-ground  of  peace,  to  honor  the  memories  of 
these  true  heroes  and  to  kindle  in  the  breasts  of 
the  rising  generation  a  flame  of  patriotic  senti- 
ment, this  expedition  was  undertaken. 

The  ox  team  was  chosen  as  a  typical  reminder 
of  pioneer  days,  an  effective  instrument  to  at- 
tract attention,  arouse  enthusiasm,  and  a  help 
to  secure  aid  to  forward  the  work  of  marking  the 
old  Trail,  and  erecting  monumdents  in  centers  of 
population. 

In  one  respect  the  object  was  attained,  that  of 
attracting  attention,  with  results  in  part  wholly 
unexpected.  I  had  hardly  driven  the  outfit  out 
of  my  dooryard  till  the  work  of  defacing  the 
wagon  and  wagon  cover,  and  even  the  nice  map 
of  the  old  Trail  began.  First  I  noticed  a  name 
or  two  written  on  the  wagon-bed,  then  a  dozen 
or  more,  all  stealthily  placed  there,  until  the 
whole  was  so  closely  covered  there  was  no  room 
for  mor(\    Finally  the  vandals  began  carving  in- 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  83 

itials  on  the  bed,  cutting  off  pieces  to  carry  away, 
until  I  finally  put  a  stop  to  it  by  employing  a 
special  police,  posting  notices,  and  nabbing  some 
in  the  very  act. 

Give  me  Indians  on  the  Plains  to  contend  with, 
give  me  fleas,  ah,  yes,  the  detested  sage  brush 
ticks  to  burrow  in  your  flesh,  but  deliver  me 
from  the  degenerates  of  cheap  notoriety  seekers. 

Many  good  people  have  thought  there  was 
some  organization  behind  this  work,  or  that  there 
had  been  government  aid  secured.  To  all  such 
and  to  those  who  may  read  these  lines  I  will  quot*^ 
from  the  cards  issued  at  the  outset: 

"The  expense  of  this  expedition  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  old  Oregon  Trail,  by  erecting 
stone  monuments,  is  borne  by  myself  except  «uch 
voluntary  aid  as  may  be  given  by  those  taking  an 
interest  in  the  work,  and  you  are  respectfully 
solicited  to  contribute  such  sum  as  may  be 
convenient.'' 

To  this  appeal  a  generous  response  has  been 
made,  as  attested  by  the  line  of  monuments  from 
Puget  Sound  to  this  poin^  a  brief  account  of 
which,  with  incidents  of  this  trip  and  of  the  trip 
made  by  me  with  an  ox  and  cow  team  in  1852, 
will  follow. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  85 

THE  TEAM. 

The  team  cousists  of  one  seven-year-old  ox, 
Twist,  and  one  unbroken  range  four-year-old 
steer,  Dave.  When  we  were  ready  to  start.  Twist 
weighed  1,470  and  Dave  1,560  pounds,  respect- 
ively. This  order  of  weight  was  soon  changed. 
In  three  months'  time  Twist  gained  130  and  Dave 
lost  10  pounds.  All  this  time  I  fed  with  a  lavish 
hand  all  the  rolled  barley  I  dare  and  all  the  hay 
they  would  eat.  During  that  time  thirty-three 
days  lapsed  in  which  w^e  did  not  travel,  being 
engaged  either  arranging  for  the  erection  or  dedi- 
cation of  monuments. 

TEAM  OF  1852 

My  team  of  1852  consisted  of  two  unbroken 
steers  and  two  cows.  The  cows  I  had  to  give  up 
to  save  the  life  of  the  oxen  during  the  deep  snow 
that  fell  in  the  winter  of  1852-53.  The  oxen 
hauled  our  belongings  over  to  the  head  of  Puget 
Sound  in  July,  1853,  and  I  there  parted  with 
them.  Of  that  parting  I  quote  from  my  work 
"Pioneer  Reminiscences  of  Puget  Sound:" 

"What  I  am  now  about  to  write  may  provoke 
a  smile,  but  I  can  only  say,  reader,  put  yourself 
in  my  place.    That  there  should  be  a  feeling  akin 


86  THE  OX   TEAM   OR 

to  affection  between  a  man  and  an  ox  will  seem 
past  comprehension  to  many.  The  time  had  come 
when  Buck  and  Dandy  and  I  must  part  for  good 
and  all.  1  could  not  transport  them  to  our  island 
home,  neither  provide  for  them.  These  patient, 
dumb  brutes  had  been  my  close  companions  for 
the  long,  weary  months  on  the  Plains,  and  had 
never  failed  me ;  they  would  do  my  bidding  to  the 
letter.  I  often  said  Buck  understood  English 
better  than  some  people  I  had  seen  in  my  life- 
time. I  had  done  what  not  one  in  a  hundred  did; 
that  was  to  start  on  that  trip  with  an  unbroken 
ox  and  cow  team.  I  had  selected  these  four-year- 
old  steers  for  their  intelligent  eyes  as  well  as  for 
their  trim  build,  and  had  made  no  mistake.  We 
had  bivouacked  together ;  actually  slept  together  ; 
lunched  together.  They  knew  me  as  far  as  they 
could  see,  and  seemed  delighted  to  obey  my  word, 
and  I  did  regret  to  feel  constrained  to  part  with 
them.  I  knew  they  had  assured  my  safe  transit 
on  the  weary  journey,  if  not  even  to  the  point  of 
having  saved  my  life.  I  could  pack  them,  ride 
them,  drive  them  by  the  word  and  receive  their 
salutations,  and  why  should  I  be  ashamed  to  part 
•with  feelings  of  more  than  regret?" 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  87 

I  have  no  such  feelings  for  the  brute  Twist,  for 
on  April  12  he  kicked  me,  almost  broke  my  knee, 
and  came  near  disabling  me  for  life,  and  Dave  is 
worse,  for  they  both  kick  like  government  mules. 
If  the  reader  happens  to  know  how  that  is  he  will 
appreciate  the  definition.  Twist,  however,  is  the 
best  all  round  ox  I  ever  saw.  Dave  has  not  yet 
lost  his  range  spirit  entirely,  and  sometimes  gets 
mad  and  unruly. 

THE  WAGON. 

The  wagon  is  new  woodwork  throughout  except 
one  hub,  which  did  service  across  the  Plains  in 
1853.  The  hub  bands,  boxes,  and  other  irons  are 
from  two  old-time  wagons  that  crossed  the  Plains 
in  1853,  and  differ  some  in  size  and  shape ;  hence 
the  fore  and  hind  wheel  hubs  do  not  match.  The 
axles  are  wood,  with  the  old-time  linch  pins  and 
steel  skeins,  involving  the  use  of  tar  and  the  tar 
bucket.  The  bed  is  of  the  old  style  "prairie 
schooner"  so-called  (see  illustration,  page  16) 
fashioned  as  a  boat,  like  those  of  "ye  olden 
times."  I  crossed  Snake  river  in  two  places  in 
1852,  with  all  I  possessed  (except  the  oxen  and 
cows),  including  the  running-gear  of  the  wagon, 
in  a  wagon-box  not  as  good  as  this  one  shown  in 
the  illustration. 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  81) 

CAMP  NO.  1. 

Camp  No.  1  was  in  my  own  front  dooryard  at 
Puyallup;  Washington  (see  illustration,  page 
88),  a  town  established  on  my  own  homestead 
nearly  forty  years  ago,  on  the  line  of  the  North- 
ern Pacific  railroad,  nine  miles  southeast  of  Ta- 
coma,  and  thirty  miles  south  of  Seattle,  Wash- 
ington. In  platting  the  town  I  dedicated  a  park 
and  called  it  Pioneer  Park,  and  in  it  are  the  re- 
mains of  our  old  ivy-covered  cabin,  where  the 
wife  of  fifty-five  years  ago  and  I,  with  our  grow- 
ing family,  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  In  this 
same  town  I  named  the  principal  thoroughfare 
Pioneer  Avenue,  and  a  short  street  abutting  the 
park  Pioneer  Way,  hence  the  reader  may  note 
it  is  not  a  new  idea  with  me  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  pioneers. 

No  piece  of  machinery  ever  runs  at  the  start 
as  well  as  after  trial;  therefore  Camp  No.  1  was 
maintained  several  days  to  mend  up  the  weak 
points,  and  so  after  a  few  days  of  trial  every- 
thing was  pronounced  in  order,  and  Camp  No.  2 
was  pitched  in  the  street  in  front  of  the  Meth- 
odist church  of  the  town,  and  a  lecture  delivered 
in  the  church  for  the  benefit  of  the  expedition. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  91 

TUMWATER,  WASHINGTON. 

The  final  start  was  made  from  Camp  No.  9  at 
Olympia,  Washington,  the  capital  of  the  state  of 
Washington,  February  19,  1906,  and  but  two 
miles  from  the  end  of  the  old  Trail, — in  early 
days  of  Oregon  but  now  Washington.  The  drive 
to  Tum water  was  made,  a  post  set  at  the  end  of 
the  Trail,  and  subsequently  arrangements  com- 
pleted to  substitute  an  inscribed  stone. 

TENINO  MONUMENT. 

At  Tenino  the  citizens  had  prepared  and  in- 
scribed a  suitable  stone,  and  on  February  21  the 
same  was  dedicated  with  due  ceremony,  with 
nearly  the  whole  population  in  attendance. 

CENTRALIA,  WASHINGTON. 

At  Centralia  contributions  were  made  suffi- 
cient to  warrant  ordering  an  inscribed  stone, 
which  was  done,  and  in  due  time  was  placed  in 
position  at  the  intersection  of  the  Trail  and  road 
a  short  way  out  from  the  city. 

CHEHALIS,  WASHINGTON. 

At  Chehalis  a  point  was  selected  in  the  center 
of  the  street  at  the  park,  and  a  post  set  to  mark 


M  THE   OX   TBAM   OB 

the  spot  where  the  monument  is  to  stand.  The 
commercial  club  undertook  the  work,  but  were 
not  ready  to  erect  and  dedicate,  as  a  more  expen- 
sive monument  than  one  that  could  be  speedily 
obtained  would  be  provided  as  an  ornament  to 
the  park. 

I  very  vividly  recollected  this  section  of  the 
old  Trail,  having,  in  company  with  a  brother, 
packed  my  blankets  and  "grub"  on  my  back  over 
it  in  May,  1853,  and  camped  on  it  near  by  over 
night,  under  the  sheltering,  drooping  branches 
of  a  friendly  cedar  tree.  We  did  not  carry  tents 
on  such  a  trip,  but  slept  out  under  the  open  can- 
opy of  heaven,  obtaining  such  shelter  as  we  could 
from  day  to  day. 

CLAQUATO,  WASHINGTON. 

It  is  permissible  to  note  the  liberality  of  H.  C 
Davis  of  Claquato,  who  provided  a  fund  of  |50 
to  erect  a  monument  at  Claquato  and  $50  for  the 
purchase  of  one  ox  for  the  expedition. 

JACKSONS. 

John  R.  Jackson  was  the  first  American  citi- 
zen to  settle  north  of  the  Columbia  river.  One 
of  the  daughters,  Mrs.  Ware,  accompanied  by 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  93 

her  husband,  indicated  the  spot  where  the  monu- 
ment should  be  erected,  and  a  post  was  planted. 
A  touching  incident  occurred  when  Mrs.  Ware 
was  requested  to  put  the  post  in  place  and  hold 
it  while  her  husband  tamped  the  earth  around 
it,  which  she  did  with  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes  at  the  thought  that  at  last  her  pioneer  fath- 
er's place  in  history  was  to  be  recognized.  A 
stone  was  ordered  at  once,  to  soon  take  the  place 
of  the  post. 

TOLEDO,  WASHINGTON. 

This  village,  the  last  place  to  reach  on  the  old 
Trail  in  Washington,  is  on  the  Cowlitz,  a  mile 
from  the  landing  w  here  the  pioneers  left  the  river 
for  the  overland  trail  to  the  Sound. 

To  this  point  in  July,  1853,  I  shipped  my  scant 
belongings  from  the  Columbia  river,  my  wife  go- 
ing up  in  the  same  canoe,  while  I  drove  Buck  and 
Dandy  up  the  trail  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river. 
A  post  was  planted  here  on  the  Trail,  and  a  prom- 
ise made  that  a  stone  monument  should  soon 
replace  it. 

PORTLAND,  OREGON. 

Prom  Toledo  I  shipped  by  river  steamer  the 
whole  outfit,  and  took  passage  with  my  assistants 


94  THE  OX   TEAM   OE 

to  Portland,  thus  reversing  the  order  of  travel  In 
1853,  accepting  the  use  of  steam  instead  of  the 
brawn  of  the  arm  of  stalwart  men  and  Indians 
to  propel  the  canoe,  and  arrived  on  the  evening 
of  March  1,  and  on  the  morning  of  March  2 
pitched  our  camp  in  the  heart  of  the  city  on  a 
beautiful  block,  the  property  of  Jacob  Kamm. 
I  remained  in  camp  here  until  the  morning  of 
March  9,  to  test  the  question  of  securing  aid  for 
the  expedition. 

Very  different  was  the  experience  when,  on 
October  1,  1852,  I  carried  my  sick  wife  in  my 
arms  up  the  bank  of  the  Willamette  river  three 
blocks  away  to  a  colored  man's  lodging  house  in 
Portland,  with  but  $2.75  in  my  pocket  and  no 
resource  but  my  labor. 

Except  for  the  efforts  of  that  indefatigable 
worker,  George  H.  Himes,  assistant  secretary  of 
the  Oregon  Historical  Society,  with  headquarters 
in  Portland,  no  helping  hand  was  extended.  Not 
but  that  the  citizens  took  a  lively  interest  in  the 
"njvel  undertaking,"  in  this  "unique  outfit,"  yet 
the  fact  became  evident  that  only  the  few  be- 
lieved the  work  could  be  successfully  done  by 
individual  effort,  and  that  government  aid  should 
be  invoked.    The  prevailing  opinion  was  voiced 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TBAIL  95 

by  a  prominent  citizen,  a  trustee  of  a  church, 
who  voted  against  allowing  the  use  of  the  church 
for  a  lecture  for  the  benefit  of  the  expedition, 
when  he  said  that  he  "did  not  want  to  do  any- 
thing to  encourage  that  old  man  to  go  out  on  the 
Plains  to  die."  Notwithstanding  this  sentiment, 
through  Mr.  Himes's  efforts  nearly  |200  was 
contributed. 

March  10,  in  early  morning  hours,  embarked 
at  Portland  on  the  steamer  Baily  Gatzert,  for 
The  Dalles,  which  place  was  reached  after  night, 
but  enlivened  by  a  warm  reception  from  the  citi- 
zens awaiting  our  arrival,  who  conducted  us  to  a 
camping  place  that  had  been  selected. 

Upon  this  steamer  one  can  enjoy  all  the  lux- 
uries of  civiiized  lif^,  a  continuous  trip  now  be- 
ing made  through  the  government  locks  at  the 
cascades.  The  tables  are  supplied  with  delicacies 
the  season  affords,  with  clean  linen  for  the  beds, 
and  obsequious  attendants  to  supply  the  wants 
of  the  travelers. 

"What  changes  time  has  wrought,''  I  ex- 
claimed. "Can  this  be  the  same  Columbia  river 
which  I  traversed  fifty-four  years  ago?  Yes,  there 
are  the  mighty  mountains,  the  wonderful  water- 
falls, the  sunken  forests,  each  attesting  the  iden- 

7 


96  THE   OX  TEAM  Oil 

tity  of  the  spot;  but  what  about  the  conditions?'^ 
Reader,  pardon  me  if  I  make  a  digression  and 
quote  from  my  reminiscences  an  account  of  that 
trip  fifty-four  years  ago. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TEAIL  97 

CHAPTEB  XII. 

Floating  Down  the  River.^ 

ON  A  September  day  of  1852  an  assemblage 
of  persons  could  be  seen  encamped  on  the 
banks  of  the  great  Columbia^  at  The  Dalles,  now 
a  city  of  no  small  pretensions,  but  then  only  a 
name  for  the  peculiar  configuration  of  country 
adjacent  to  and  including  the  waters  of  the  great 
river.  One  would  soon  discover  this  assemblage 
was  constantly  changing.  Every  few  hours 
stragglers  came  in  from  off  the  dusty  road,  be- 
grimed with  the  sweat  of  the  brow  commingled 
with  particles  of  dust  driven  through  the  air, 
sometimes  by  a  gentle  breeze,  and  then  again  by 
a  violent  gale  sweeping  up  the  river  through  the 
mountain  gap  of  the  Cascade  range.  A  motley 
crowd  these  people  were,  almost  cosmopolitan  in 
nationality,  yet  all  vestige  of  race  peculiarities 
or  race  prejudices  ground  away  in  the  mill  of 
adversity  and  trials  common  to  all  alike  in  com- 


^From  "Pioneer  Reminiscences  of  Puget  Sound,  The 
Tragedy  of  Leschi,"  by  Ezra  Meeker,  published  and  sold 
by  the  author.  6x9,  600  pages,  cloth  $3.00;  leather  $4.00, 
Puyallup,  Washington. 


98  THE  OX   TEAM   OB 

inon  danger.  And  yet,  the  dress  and  appearance 
of  this  assemblage  were  as  varied  as  the  human 
countenance  and  as  unique  as  the  great  mountain 
scenery  before  them.  Some  were  clad  in  scanty 
attire  as  soiled  with  the  dust  as  their  brows; 
others,  while  with  better  pretensions,  lacked 
some  portions  of  dress  required  in  civilized  life. 
Here  a  matronly  dame  with  clean  apparel  would 
be  without  shoes,  or  there,  perhaps,  the  husband 
without  the  hat  or  perhaps  both  shoes  and  hat 
absent;  there  the  youngsters  of  all  ages,  making 
no  pretensions  to  genteel  clothing  other  than  to 
cover  their  nakedness.  An  expert's  ingenuity 
would  be  taxed  to  the  utmost  to  discover  either 
the  texture  or  original  color  of  the  clothing  of 
either  juvenile  or  adult,  so  prevailing  was  the 
patchwork  and  so  inground  the  particles  of  dust 
and  sand  from  off  the  Plains. 

"Some  of  these  people  were  buoyant  and  hope- 
ful in  the  anticipation  of  meeting  friends  whom 
they  knew  were  aAvaiting  them  at  their  journey's 
(uid,  while  others  were  downcast  and  despondent 
as  their  thoughts  went  back  to  their  old  homes 
left  behind,  and  the  struggle  now  so  near  ended, 
and  forward  to  tlie  (to  them)  unknown  land 
ahead.    Some  had  laid  friends  and  relatives  ten- 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  99 

derly  away  in  the  shifting  sands,  who  had  fallen 
by  the  wayside,  with  the  certain  knowledge  that 
with  many  the  spot  selected  by  them  would  not 
be  the  last  resting  place  for  the  bones  of  the  loved 
ones.  The  hunger  of  the  wolf  had  been  appeased 
by  the  abundance  of  food  from  the  fallen  cattle 
that  lined  the  trail  for  a  thousand  miles  or  more, 
or  from  the  weakened  beasts  of  the  emigrants 
that  constantly  submitted  to  capture  by  the  re- 
lentless native  animals.  Not  so  for  the  future, 
when  this  supply  of  food  had  disappeared. 

"The  story  of  the  trip  across  the  Plains  in  1852 
is  both  interesting  and  pathetic,  but  I  have 
planned  to  write  of  life  after  the  journey  rather 
than  much  about  the  journey  itself;  of  the  trials 
that  beset  the  people  after  their  five  months^ 
struggle  on  the  tented  field  of  two  thousand  miles 
of  marching  was  ended,  where,  like  on  the  very 
battlefield,  the  dead  lay  in  rows  of  fifties  or 
more ;  where  the  trail  became  so  lined  with  fallen 
animals  one  could  scarcely  be  out  of  sight  or 
smell  of  carrion;  where  the  sick  had  no  respite 
from  suffering  nor  the  well  from  fatigue.  But 
this  oft- told  story  is  a  subject  of  itself,  treated 
briefiy  to  the  end  we  may  have  space  to  tell  what 
happened  when  the  journey  was  ended. 


100  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

"The  constant  gathering  on  the  bank  of  the 
Columbia  and  constant  departures  of  the  emi- 
grants did  not  materially  change  the  numbers 
encamped,  nor  the  general  appearance.  The 
great  trip  had  moulded  this  army  of  home-seek- 
ers into  one  homogenous  mass,  a  common  broth- 
erhood, that  left  a  lasting  impression  upon  the 
participants,  and,  although  few  are  left  now,  not 
one  but  will  greet  an  old  comrade  as  a  brother 
indeed,  and,  in  fact,  with  hearty  and  oftentimes 
tearful  congratulations. 

"We  camped  but  two  days  on  the  bank  of  the 
river.  When  I  say  Sve'  let  it  be  understood  that 
I  mean  myself,  my  young  wife,  and  the  little  baby 
boy,  who  was  but  seven  weeks  old  when  the  start 
was  made  from  near  Eddyville,  Iowa.  Both  were 
sick,  the  mother  from  gradual  exhaustion  during 
the  trip  incident  to  motherhood,  and  the  little 
one  in  sympathy,  doubtless  drawn  from  the  moth- 
er's breast. 

"Did  you  ever  think  of  the  wonderful  mystery 
of  the  inner  action  of  the  mind,  how  some  im- 
pressions once  made  seem  to  remain,  while  oth- 
ers gradually  fade  away,  like  the  twilight  of  a 
summer  sunset,  until  iiually  lost?  And  then 
how  seemingly  trivial  incidents  will  be  fastened 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  ^    ,  ,l,0]l 

upon  one's  memory  while  others  of  more  im- 
portance we  would  recall  if  we  could,  but  which 
have  faded  forever  from  our  grasp?  I  can  well 
believe  all  readers  have  had  this  experience,  and 
so  will  be  prepared  to  receive  with  leniency  the 
confession  of  an  elderly  gentleman  (I  will  not 
say  old),  when  he  says  that  most  of  the  incidents 
are  forgotten  and  few  remembered.  I  do  not  re- 
member the  embarking  on  the  great  scow  for  the 
float  down  the  river  to  the  Cascades,  but  vividly 
remember,  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday,  inci- 
dents of  the  voyage.  We  all  felt  (I  now  mean 
the  emigrants  who  took  passage)  that  now  our 
journey  was  ended.  The  cattle  had  been  unyoked 
for  the  last  time;  the  wagons  had  been  rolled  to 
the  last  bivouac;  the  embers  of  the  last  campfire 
had  died  out;  the  last  word  of  gossip  had  been 
spoken,,  and  now,  we  were  entering  a  new  field 
with  new  present  experience,  and  with  new  ex- 
pectancy for  the  morrow. 

"The  scow  or  lighter  upon  which  we  took  pas- 
sage was  decked  over,  but  without  railing,  a  sim- 
ple, smooth  surface  upon  which  to  pile  our  be- 
longings, which,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases 
made  but  a  very  small  showing.  I  think  there 
must  have  been  a  dozen  families,  or  more,  of  sixty 


^02'     '      '  THE  OX   TEAM   OB 


or  more  persons,  principally  women  and  children, 
as  the  young  men  (and  some  old  ones,  too)  were 
struggling  on  the  mountain  trail  to  get  the  teams 
through  to  the  west  side.  The  whole  deck  surface 
of  the  scow  was  covered  with  the  remnants  of 
the  emigrants'  outfits,  which  in  turn  were  covered 
by  the  owners,  either  sitting  or  reclining  upon 
their  possessions,  leaving  but  scant  room  to 
change  position  or  move  about  in  any  way. 

'•Did  you  ever,  reader,  have  the  experience 
when  some  sorrow  overtook  you,  or  when  some 
disappointment  had  been  experienced,  or  when 
deferred  hopes  had  not  been  realized,  or  some- 
times even  without  these  and  from  some  un- 
kno'.vn,  subtle  cause,  feel  that  depression  of  spir- 
its that  for  lack  of  a  better  name  we  call  *the 
blues?'  When  the  world  ahead  looked  dark; 
when  hope  seemed  extinguished  and  the  future 
looked  like  a  blank?  Why  do  I  ask  this  ques- 
tion? I  know  you  all  to  a  greater  or  less  degree 
have  had  just  this  experience.  Can  you  wonder 
that,  after  our  craft  had  been  turned  loose  upon 
the  waters  of  the  great  river,  and  begun  floating 
lazily  down  with  the  current,  that  such  a  feeling 
as  tliat  described  would  seize  us  as  with  an  iron 
grip?    We  were  like  an  army  that  had  burned 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  103 

the  bridges  behind  them  as  they  marched,  and 
with  scant  knowledge  of  what  lay  in  the  track 
before  them.  Here  we  w^ere,  more  than  two  thou- 
sand miles  from  home,  separated  by  a  trackless, 
uninhabited  waste  of  country,  impossible  for  us 
to  retrace  our  steps.  Go  ahead  we  must,  no  mat- 
ter what  we  were  to  encounter.  Then,  too,  the 
system  had  been  strung  up  for  months  to  duties 
that  could  not  be  avoided  or  delayed,  until  many 
were  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  Some  were  sick 
and  all  reduced  in  flesh  from  the  urgent  call  for 
camp  duty,  and  lack  of  variety  of  food.  Such 
were  the  feelings  of  the  motley  crowd  of  sixty 
persons  as  w^e  slowly  neared  that  wonderful  crev- 
ice through  which  the  great  river  flows  while 
passing  the  Cascade  mountain  range. 

"For  myself,  I  can  truly  say  that  the  trip  had 
not  drawn  on  my  vitality  as  I  saw  with  so  many. 
True,  I  had  been  worked  down  in  flesh,  having 
lost  nearly  twenty  pounds  on  the  trip,  but  what 
weight  I  had  left  was  the  bone  and  sinew  of  my 
system,  that  served  me  so  well  on  this  trip  and 
has  been  my  comfort  in  other  walks  of  life  at  a 
later  period.  And  so,  if  asked,  did  you  experi- 
ence hardship  on  the  trip  across  the  Plains,  I 
could  not  answer  yes  without  a  mental  reserva- 


104  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

tion  that  it  might  have  been  a  great  deal  worse. 
I  say  the  same  as  to  after  experience,  for  these 
subsequent  fifty  years  or  more  of  pioneer  life, 
having  been  blessed  with  a  good  constitution, 
and  being  now  able  to  say  that  in  the  fifty-three 
years  of  our  married  life  the  wife  has  never  seen 
me  a  day  sick  in  bed.  But  this  is  a  digression 
and  so  we  must  turn  our  attention  to  the  trip  on 
the  scow,  ^floating  down  the  river.' 

"In  our  company,  a  party  of  three,  a  young 
married  couple  and  an  unmarried  sister  lounged 
on  their  belongings,  listlessly  watching  the  rip- 
ples on  the  water,  as  did  also  others  of  the  party. 
But  little  conversation  Avas  passing.  Each 
seemed  to  be  communing  with  himself  or  herself, 
but  it  w^as  easy  to  see  what  were  the  thoughts 
occupying  the  minds  of  all.  The  young  husband, 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen,  would  soon  complete  that 
greater  journey  to  the  unknown  beyond,  a  condi- 
tion that  weighed  so  heavily  upon  the  ladies  of 
the  party  that  they  could  ill  conceal  their  solici- 
tude and  sorrow.  Finally,  to  cheer  up  the  sick 
husband  and  brother,  the  ladies  began  in  sweet 
subdued  voices  to  sing  the  old  familiar  song  of 
*Home,  Sweet  Home,'  whereupon  others  of  the 
party  joined  in  the  chorus  with  increased  vol- 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  105 

ume  of  sound.  As  the  echo  of  the  echo  died  away, 
at  the  moment  of  gliding  under  the  shadoAV  of 
the  high  mountain,  the  second  verse  was  begun, 
but  was  never  finished.  If  an  electric  shock  had 
startled  every  individual  of  the  party,  there  could 
have  been  no  more  simultaneous  effect  than  when 
the  second  line  of  the  second  verse  was  reached, 
when,  instead  of  song,  sobs  and  outcries  of  grief 
poured  forth  from  all  lips.  It  seemed  as  if  there 
were  a  tumult  of  despair  mingled  with  prayer 
pouring  forth  without  restraint.  The  rugged 
boatmen  rested  upon  their  oars  in  awe  and  gave 
away  in  sympathy  with  the  scene  before  them, 
until  it  could  truly  be  said  no  dry  eyes  were  left 
nor  aching  heart  but  Avas  relieved.  Like  the 
downpour  of  a  summer  shower  that  suddenly 
clears  the  atmosphere  to  welcome  the  bright  shin- 
ing sun  that  follows,  so  this  sudden  outburst  of 
grief  cleared  away  the  despondency,  to  be  re- 
placed by  an  exalted  exhilarating  feeling  of  buoy- 
ancy and  hopefulness.  The  tears  were  not  dried 
till  mirth  took  possession — a  real  hysterical  man- 
ifestation of  the  whole  party,  that  ended  all  de- 
pression for  the  remainder  of  the  trip/' 


iOG  THE   OX  TEAM  OB 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Ox  Team  Expedition  Continued. 

THE  DALLES,  OREGON. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"The  Dalles,  Oregon,  Camp  No.  16,  March  10. 
Arrived  last  night  all  in  a  muss,  with  load  out 
of  the  wagon,  but  the  mate  had  his  men  put  the 
bed  on,  and  a  number  of  willing  boys  helped  to 
tumble  all  loose  articles  into  the  wagon  while 
Goebel  arranged  them,  leaving  the  boxes  for  a 
second  load.  Drove  nearly  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  to  a  camping  ground  near  the  park,  se- 
lected by  the  citizens;  surprised  to  find  the 
streets  muddy.  Cattle  impatient  and  walked 
very  fast,  necessitating  my  tramping  through  the 
mud  at  their  heads.  Made  second  load  while  Goe- 
bel put  up  the  tent,  and  went  to  bed  at  10:00 
o'clock,  which  was  as  soon  as  things  were  ar- 
ranged for  the  night.  No  supper  or  even  tea,  as 
we  did  not  build  a  fire.  It  was  clear  last  night, 
but  raining  this  morning,  which  turned  to  sleet 
and  snow  by  9 :00  o'clock. 


THE  OLD  OUEGON  TUAIL  107 

"March  11.  Heavy  wind  last  night  that  threat- 
ened to  bring  our  tent  down  on  our  heads  and 
which  brought  cold  weather;  ice  formed  in  the 
camp  half  inch  thick;  damper  of  stove  out  of 
order,  which,  with  the  wind,  drove  the  smoke  out 
of  the  stove  and  filled  the  tent  full  of  smoke, 
making  life  miserable.  In  consequence  of  the 
weather,  the  dedication  ceremonies  were  post- 
poned." 

Prior  to  leaving  home  I  had  written  to  the 
ladies  of  the  landmark  committee  that  upon  my 
arrival  at  The  Dalles  I  would  be  pleased  to  have 
their  cooperation  to  secure  funds  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument in  their  city.  What  should  they  do  but 
put  their  heads  together  and  provide  one  already 
inscribed  and  in  place  and  notify  me  that  I  had 
been  selected  to  deliver  the  dedicatory  address 
and  that  it  was  expected  the  whole  city  would 
turn  out  to  witness  the  ceremonies.  But  alas, 
the  fierce  cold  winds  spoiled  all  their  well-laid 
plans,  for  the  dedication  had  to  be  postponed. 
Finally,  upon  short  notice,  the  stone  was  duly 
dedicated  on  the  12th  of  March  with  a  few  hun- 
dred people  in  attendance  with  their  wraps  and 
overcoats  on  (see  illustration,  page  108). 


THE  OLD  OUEGON  TRAIL         109 

Before  leaving  Seattle  I  had  the  oxen  shod, 
for  which  I  was  charged  the  unmerciful  price  of 
|15,  but  they  did  such  a  poor  job  that  by  the 
time  I  arrived  at  The  Dalles  all  the  shoes  but 
one  were  off  the  Dave  ox,  and  several  lost  off 
Twist,  and  the  remainder  loose,  and  so  I  was 
compelled  to  have  the  whole  of  the  work  done 
over  again  at  The  Dalles. 

This  time  the  work  was  well  done,  all  the  shoes 
but  one  staying  on  for  a  distance  of  600  miles, 
when  we  threw  the  Dave  ox  to  replace  the  lost 
shoe,  there  being  no  stocks  at  hand.  The  charge 
at  The  Dalles  was  |10,  thus  making  quite 
an  inroad  upon  the  scant  funds  for  the  expedi- 
tion. I  felt  compelled  to  have  them  again  shod 
at  Kemmerer,  Wyoming,  848  miles  out  from  The 
Dalles,  but  soon  lost  several  shoes,  and  finally 
at  the  Pacific  Springs  had  the  missing  shoes  re- 
placed by  inexperienced  hands,  who  did  a  good 
job,  though,  for  the  shoes  stayed  on  until  well 
worn. 

On  the  Plains  in  '52  but  few  shod  their  cattle. 
Many  cows  were  worked,  and  light  steers,  and 
most  of  the  outfits  had  spare  cattle  to  put  in 
their  teams  in  case  one  became  lame  or  tender 
footed.     I  knew  of  several  tying  cowhide  shoes 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  111 

on  to  protect  the  feet  of  their  cattle,  while  with 
others  it  was  pitiable  to  see  the  suffering,  limp- 
ing, dumb  brutes  laboring. 

OUT  FROM  THE  DALLES. 
At  3:30  P.M.  on  March  14  we  drove  out  from 
The  Dalles.  I  have  always  felt  that  here  was  the 
real  starting  point,  as  from  here  there  could  be 
no  more  shipping,  but  all  driving.  By  rail  it  is 
1,734  miles  from  The  Dalles  to  Omaha,  where 
our  work  on  the  old  Trail  ends.  By  wagon  road 
the  distance  is  some  greater,  but  not  much,  prob- 
ably 1,800  miles.  The  load  was  heavy  as  well  as 
the  roads.  With  a  team  untrained  to  the  road, 
and  one,  ox  unbroken,  and  no  experienced  ox 
driver,  and  the  grades  heavy,  small  wonder  if  a 
feeling  of  depression  crept  over  me.  On  some 
long  hills  we  could  move  up  but  one  or  two 
lengths  of  the  Avagon  at  a  time,  and  on  level  roads 
with  the  least  warm  sun  the  unbroken  ox  would 
poke  out  his  tongue.  He  was  like  the  young 
sprig  just  out  of  school,  with  muscles  soft  and 
breath  short. 

PENDLETON,  OREGON. 

A  fourteen-days  drive  to  Pendleton,  Oregon, 
1381/2  miles,  without  meeting  any  success  in  in- 


112  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

teresting  people  to  help  in  the  work,  was  not 
inspiring.  On  this  stretch,  with  two  assistants, 
the  Trail  was  marked  with  boulder^  and  cedar 
posts  at  intersections  with  traveled  roads, 
river  crossings,  and  noted  camping  places, 
but  no  center  of  population  was  encoun- 
tered until  I  reached  the  town  of  Pendleton. 
Here  the  commercial  club  took  hold  with  a  will, 
provided  the  funds  to  inscribe  a  stone  monument, 
which  was  installed,  and  on  the  31st  of  March 
dedicated  it  (see  illustration,  page  110),  with 
over  a  thousand  people  present.  Here  one  as- 
sistant Y^as  discharged,  the  camera  and  photo 
supplies  stored,  a  small  kodak  purchased,  and 
the  load  otherwise  lightened  by  shipping  tent, 
stove,  stereopticon,  and  other  etceteras  over  the 
Blue  mountains  to  La  Grand. 

On  that  evening  I  drove  out  six  miles  to  the 
Indian  school  in  a  fierce  wind-  and  rainstorm 
that  set  in  soon  after  the  dedication  ceremonies, 
on  my  way  over  the  Blue  mountains. 

A  night  in  the  wagon  without  fire  in  cold 
weather  and  with  scant  supper  was  enough  to 
cool  one's  ardor,  but,  when  the  next  morning  the 
information  was  given  out  that  eighteen  inches 
of  snow  had  fallen  on  the  mountains,  zero  was 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  113 

reached.  However,  with  the  morning  sun  came 
a  warm  reception  from  the  authorities  of  the 
school,  a  room  with  a  stove  in  it  allotted  us,  and 
a  command  to  help  ourselves  to  fuel. 

THE  BLUE  MOUNTAINS. 

Before  this  last  fall  of  snow  some  had  said  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  cross,  while  others 
said  it  could  be  done,  but  that  it  would  be  a 
"hard  job."  So  I  thought  best  to  go  myself,  in- 
vestigate on  the  spot,  and  not  "run  my  neck  into 
a  halter"  (whatever  that  may  mean)  for  lack  of 
knowing  at  first  hands.  So  that  evening 
Meacham  was  reached  by  rail  and  I  was  dumped 
off  in  the  snow  near  midnight,  no  visible  light  in 
hotel  nor  track  beaten  to  it,  and  again  the  ardor 
was  cold — cool,  cooler,  cold. 

Morning  confirmed  the  story;  twenty  inches 
of  snow  had  fallen,  but  was  settling,  very  fast. 
A  sturdy  mountaineer,  and  one  of  long  experi- 
ence and  an  owner  of  a  team,  in  response  to  my 
query  if  he  could  help  me  across  with  his  team 
said,  "Yes,  it's  possible  to  make  it,  but  I  warn 
you  it 's  a  hard  job,"  and  so  the  arrangement  was 
at  once  made  that  the  second  morning  after  our 
meeting  his  team  would  leave  Meacham  on  the 
way  to  meet  «ne. 


114  THE  OX   TEAM   OB 

"But  what  about  a  monument,  Mr.  Bums?*'  I 
said.  "Meacham  is  a  historic  place  with  Lee's 
encampment^  in  sight." 

"We  have  no  money,"  came  the  quick  reply, 
"but  plenty  of  brawn.  Send  us  a  stone  and  I  '11 
warrant  you  the  foundation  will  be  built  and  the 
monument  put  in  place." 

A  belated  train  gave  opportunity  to  return  at 
once  to  Pendleton.  An  appeal  for  aid  to  provide 
an  inscribed  stone  for  Meacham  was  responded 
to  with  alacrity,  the  stone  ordered,  and  a  sound 
night's  sleep  followed — ardor  rising. 

MEACHAM,  OREGON. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"Camp  No.  3,  April  4  (1906).  We  are  now 
on  the  snow  line  of  the  Blue  mountains  (8:00 
P.M.),  and  am  writing  this  by  our  first  real  out- 
of-door  campfire,  under  the  spreading  boughs  of 
a  friendly  pine  tree.  We  estimate  have  driven 
twelve  miles;  started  from  the  school  at  7:00 
(A.M.)  ;  the  first  three  or  four  miles  over  a  beau- 


*  Jason  Lee,  the  first  missionary  to  the  Oregon  country, 
with  four  assistants,  camped  here  in  September.  1834,  at, 
as  he  supposed,  the  summit  of  the  Blue  mountains,  and 
ever  after  the  little  opening  in  the  forests  of  the  moun- 
tains has  been  known  as  Lee's  encampment 


THE   OLD.  OKEGON    TRAIL  115 

tiful  farming  country,  and  then  began  climbing 
the  foothills,  up,  up,  up,  four  miles  and  soon 
again  up,  reaching  the  first  snow  at  3 :00  o'clock. 
The  long  up-hill  pull  fagged  the  Dave  ox,  so  we 
had  to  wait  on  him,  although  I  had  given  him  an 
inch  the  advantage  on  the  yoke.'' 

True  to  promise,  the  team  met  us,  but  not  till 
\^e  had  reached  the  snow,  axle  deep,  and  had  the 
shovel  in  use  to  clear  the  way.  But  by  3:00  p.m. 
we  were  safely  encamped  at  Meacham,  with  the 
cheering  news  that  the  monument  had  arrived 
and  could  be  dedicated  the  next  day,  and  so  the 
snowfall  had  proved  a  blessing  in  disguise,  as 
otherwise  there  would  not  have  been  a  monument 
provided  for  Meacham.    Ardor  warming. 

But  the  summit  had  not  been  reached.  The 
worst  tug  lay  ahead  of  us.  Casting  all  thoughts 
of  this  from  mind,  all  hands  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  the  monument,  which  by  11 :00  o'clock 
was  in  place,  the  ]teams  hitched  up,  standing  near 
it,  and  ready  for  the  start  as  soon  as  the  order 
was  given.  Everybody  was  out,  the  little  school 
in  a  body,  a  neat  speech  was  made  by  the  orator 
from  Pendleton,  and  the  two  teams  to  the  one 
wagon  moved  on  to  the  front  to  battle  with  the 
snow.    And  it  was  a  battle.    We  read  of  the  "last 


116  THE   OX   TEAM   OE 

Straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back."  I  said,  after 
we  had  gotten  through,  "I  wonder  if  another  flake 
of  snow  would  have  balked  us?"  But  no  one 
answered,  and  I  took  it  for  granted  they  did  n't 
know.  And  so  we  went  into  camp  on  the  hither 
side  of  the  summit.    Ardor  warmer. 

LA  GRAND,  OREGON. 

The  sunshine  that  was  let  into  our  hearts  at 
La  Grand  ( Oregon )  was  refreshing.  "Yes,  we 
will  have  a  monument,"  the  response  came,  and 
they  did,  too,  and  dedicated  it  while  I  tarried. 
Ardor  normal. 

LADD'S  CANYON. 

I  again  quote  from  my  journal: 

"Camp  No.  34,  April  11.  We  left  La  Grand 
at  7:30  (a.m.)  and  brouglit  an  inscribed  stone 
with  us  to  set  up  at  intersection  near  the  mouth 
of  Ladd's  canyon,  eight  miles  out  from  La  Grand. 
At  1:00  o'clock  the  school  near  by  came  in  a 
body,  and  several  residents  to  see  and  hear.  The 
children  sang  ^Columbia,  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean,' 
after  which  1  talked  to  them  for  a  few  moments, 
closing  by  all  singing  ^\merica'  and  we  plioto- 
graphed  the  scene.     Each  child  brought  a  stone 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  117 

and  cast  it  iipon  the  pile  surrounding  the  base 
of  the  monument." 

CAMP  NO.  34. 

At  this  camp,  on  April  12,  the  Twist  ox  kicked 
me  and  almost  totally  disabled  my  right  leg  for 
a  month  and  probably  has  resulted  in  permanent 
injury.  Much  had  to  be  left  undone  that  other- 
wise could  have  been  accomplished,  but  I  am  re- 
joiced that  it  was  no  worse  and  thankful  to  the 
kind  friends  that  worked  so  ardently  to  accom- 
plish what  has  been  done,  an  account  of  which 
follows. 

BAKER  CITY,  OREGON. 

The  citizens  of  Baker  City  lent  a  willing  ear 
to  the  suggestion  to  erect  a  monument  on  the 
high  school  ground  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 
the  old  Trail  and  to  honor  the  pioneers  who  made 
it,  although  the  Trail  is  off  to  the  north  six  miles. 
A  fine  granite  shaft  was  provided  and  dedicated 
while  I  tarried,  and  an  inscribed  stone  marker 
set  in  the  Trail.  Eight  hundred  school  children 
contributed  an  aggregate  of  |60  to  place  a  chil- 
dren's bronze  tablet  on  this  shaft.  The  money 
for  this  work  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 


THE   OLD   OllEGON   TRAIL  119 

school  directors.  Two  thousand  people  partici- 
pated in  the  ceremony  of  dedication  on  the  19th, 
and  all  were  proud  of  the  work.  A  wave  of  gen- 
uine enthusiasm  prevailed,  and  many  of  the  au- 
dience lingered  long  after  the  exercises  were  over. 
A  photograph  of  the  Old  Timer  was  taken 
after  the  ceremonies  of  the  dedication,  and  many 
a  moistened  eye  attested  the  interest  taken  in  the 
impromptu  reunion. 

OLD  MOUNT  PLEASANT,  OREGON. 

Sixteen  miles  out  from  Baker  City  at  Straw 
Ranch,  set  an  inscribed  stone  at  an  important 
intersection.  At  Old  Mount  Pleasant  I  met  the 
owner  of  the  place  where  I  wanted  to  plant  the 
stone  (always,  though,  in  the  public  highway) 
and  asked  him  to  contribute,  but  he  refused  and 
treated  me  with  scant  courtesy.  Thirteen  young 
men  and  one  lady,  hearing  of  the  occurrence, 
contributed  the  cost  of  the  stone  and  |6  extra. 
The  tent  was  filled  with  people  till  9:00  o'clock 
at  night.  The  next  day,  while  planting  the  stone, 
five  young  lads  came  along,  stripped  off  their 
coats,  and  worked  with  earnestness  until  finished. 
I  note  these  incidents  to  show  the  interest  taken 
by  the  people  at  large,  of  all  classes. 


120  THE   OX   TEAM  OR 

DURKEE,  OREGON. 

The  people  of  Durkee  had  "heard  what  was  go- 
ing on  down  the  line,"  and  said  they  were  ready 
to  provide  the  funds  for  a  monument.  One  was 
ordered  from  the  granite  works  at  Baker  City, 
and  in  due  time  was  dedicated,  but  unfortunately 
I.  have  no  photograph  of  it.  The  stone  was 
planted  in  the  old  Trail  on  the  i>rincipal  street 
of  the  village. 

HUNTINGTON. 

Huntington  came  next  in  the  track  where  the 
Trail  ran,  and  here  a  granite  monument  was 
erected  and  dedicated  while  I  tarried,  for  which 
the  citizens  willingly  contributed.  Here  seventy- 
six  school  children  contributed  their  dimes  and 
half  dimes,  aggregating  over  $4. 

After  the '  experience  in  Baker  City,  Oregon, 
where,  as  already  related,  800  children  contrib- 
uted and  at  Boise,  Idaho,  to  be  related  later,  over 
a  thousand  laid  down  their  offerings,  I  am  con- 
vinced this  feature  of  the  work  is  destined  to  give 
great  results.  It  is  not  the  financial  aid  I  refer 
to,  but  the  effect  it  has  upon  children's  minds  to 
set  them  to  thinking  of  this  subject  that  has  here- 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         121 

tofore  laid  doriuant,  and  to  kindle  a  flame  of 
patriotic  sentiment  that  will  endure  in  after  life. 
Each  child  in  Baker  City,  or  in  Huntington,  or 
Boise,  or  other  places  where  these  contributions 
have  been  made,  feel  they  have  a  part  ownership 
in  the  shaft  they  helped  to  pay  for,  and  a  tender 
care  for  it  that  will  grow  stronger  as  the  child 
grows  older. 

VALE,  OREGON. 

It  was  not  a  question  at  Vale,  Oregon,  as  to 
whether  they  would  erect  a  monument,  but  as 
to  what  kind,  that  is,  what  kind  of  stone.  Local 
pride  prevailed,  and  a  shaft  was  erected  out  of 
local  material  which  was  not  so  suitable  as  gran- 
ite, but  the  spirit  of  the  people  was  manifested. 
Exactly  seventy  school  children  contributed  to 
the  fund  for  erecting  this  monument,  which  was 
placed  on  the  court  house  grounds,  and  partici- 
pated in  the  exercises  of  dedication  on  April 
30. 


122  THE   OX  TEAM  OB 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

OLD  FORT  BOISE. 

THIS  finished  the  work  in  Oregon,  as  we  soon 
crossed  Snake  river  just  below  the  mouth  of 
Boise  and  were  landed  on  the  historic  spot  of  the 
old  Fort  Boise,  established  by  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company  in  September,  1834.  This  fort  was  es- 
tablished for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the  suc- 
cess of  the  American  venture  at  Fort  Hull,  a  post 
established  earlier  in  1834  by  Nathaniel  J. 
Wythe.  AVythe's  venture  proved  disastrous,  and 
the  fort  soon  passed  into  his  rival's  hands,  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company,  thus  for  the  time  being 
securing  undisputed  British  rule  for  the  whole 
of  that  vast  region  known  as  the  Inland  Empire. 
Some  relics  of  the  old  fort  at  Boise  were  se- 
cured, arrangements  made  for  planting  a  double 
inscribed  stone  to  mark  the  site  of  the  fort  and 
the  Trail,  and  afterwards,  through  the  liberality 
of  the  citizens  of  Boise  City,  a  stone  was  shipped 
and  doubtless  before  this  put  in  place. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  123 

PARMA,  IDAHO. 

The  first  town  encountered  in  Idaho  wasi 
Parma,  where  the  contributions  warranted  ship- 
ping an  inscribed  stone  from  Boise  City,  which 
was  done,  and  is  doubtless  ere  this  in  place,  but 
no  photograph  of  it  is  at  hand. 

BOISE,  IDAHO. 

At  Boise,  the  capital  city  of  Idaho,  there  were 
nearly  1,200  contributions  to  the  monument  fund 
by  the  pupils  of  the  public  schools,  each  child 
signing  his  or  her  name  to  the  roll,  showing  the 
school  and  grade  to  which  the  child  belonged. 
These  rolls  with  printed  headings  were  collected, 
bound  together,  and  deposited  with  the  archives 
of  the  Pioneer  Society  historical  collection  for 
future  reference  and  as  a  part  of  the  history  of 
the  monument.  Each  child  was  given  a  signed 
certificate  showing  the  amount  of  the  contribu- 
tion. The  monument  stands  on  the  state  house 
grounds  and  is  inscribed  as  the  children's  offer- 
ing to  the  memory  of  the  pioneers.  Near  three 
thousand  people  attended  the  dedication  service, 
the  program  of  which  is  here  given  in  full  to 
show  the  spirit  prevailing  and  to  illustrate  the 
zeal  manifested  in  many  other  places: 


J 


124  THE   OX   TEAM  OB 

PROGRAM   PIONEER  MONUMENT   DEDICATION. 


Capitol   Grounds,  Boise,  Idaho,  Wednesday,  may  9, 1906. 

major  j.  a.  pinney,  presiding. 

Song    "Idaho" 

By  the  School  Children. 

A  lovely  mountain  home  is  ours, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
Of  winters  mild  and  springtime  showers, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
Her  breezes  blow  from  western  shore; 
Where  broad  Pacific's  billows  roar; 
Each  year  we  love  her  more  and  more, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 

Her  mountains  grand  are  crowned  with  snow, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
And  valleys  fertile  spread  below, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
The  towering  pines  on  cliffs  so  stei^p, 
O'er  cataracts  their  vigils  keep, 
Or  in  the  lakes  are  mirrored  deep, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 

A  thousand  hills  where  herds  may  range, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
And  lava  beds  so  weird  and  strange, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
Above  our  heads  are  cloudless  skies, 
In  gorgeous  hues  the  sunset  dies. 
The  starry  diamonds  greet  the  eyes, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 

Such  Is  our  wondrous  mountain  home, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
And  far  away  we  ne'er  would  roam, 

Idaho,  O,  Idaho! 
Oh  "Land  of  Liberty,"  we  tell, 
Beneath  a  starry  flag  we  dwell; 
One  star  is  ours,  we  love  it  well, 

Idaho.  O,  Idaho! 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  125 

Invocation    By   Dean  Hinks 

Address  By  F.  R.  Coffin 

Unveiling   Monument    

Esther  Gregory,  Louise  Morrison,  Edna  Perrault, 
and  Elizabeth  Hays. 

Song  "Star  Spangled  Banner" 

By  male   quartet,  composed  of  P.   E.   Tate,   C.   R.  Davis, 

L.  W.  Thrailkill,  and  M.  R.  McFerrin. 
Presentation  on  behalf  of  the  school.  Prof.  J.  E.  Williamson 

Address   By  Ezra  Meeker 

The  "Trail  Marker,"  of  Puyallup,  Wash. 

Hymn   "America" 

By  the  Audience. 

My  country,  'tis  of  thee. 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, — 

Of  thee  I  sing: 
Land  where  my  fathers  died. 
Land  of  the  pilgrims'  pride. 
From  every  mountain  side 

Let  freedom  ring! 

My  native  country,  thee, — 
Land  of  the  noble,  free, — 

Thy  name  I  love: 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills; 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 

Like  that  above. 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  thee. 
Author  of  liberty, — 

To  thee  we  sing: 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  freedom's  holy  light; 
Protect  us  by  thy  might. 

Great  God,  our  King. 


126  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

The  citizens  of  Boise  also  paid  for  the  stone 
planted  on  the  site  of  the  old  fort  and  also  for 
one  planted  on  the  Trail,  near  the  South  Boise 
school  buildinj^s,  all  of  which  were  native  granite 
shafts  of  which  there  is  a  large  supply  very  suit- 
able for  such  work. 

TWIN  FALLS,  IDAHO. 

At  Twin  Falls,  537  miles  out  from  The  Dalles, 
funds  were  contributed  to  place  an  inscribed 
stone  in  the  track  of  the  old  Trail  a  mile  from 
the  city,  and  a  granite  shaft  was  accordingly 
ordered. 

AMERICAN  FALLS,  IDAHO. 

Upon  my  arrival  at  American  Falls,  Idaho, 
649  miles  out  from  The  Dalles,  a  combination 
was  quickly  formed  to  erect  a  cement  &haft 
twelve  feet  high  to  plant  in  the  track  of  the  Trail, 
and  a  park  was  to  be  dedicated  where  the  monu- 
ment is  to  stand  and  a  section  of  the  old  Trail 
preserved. 

POCATELLO,  IDAHO. 

The  ladies'  study  club  has  undertaken  the 
work  to  erect  a  monument  at  Pocatello,  Idahd, 
676  miles  out  from  The  Dalles.    I  made  twenty- 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  127 

three  addresses  to  the  school  children  on  behalf 
of  the  work  before  leaving,  and  have  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  the  undertaking  has  been 
vigorously  prosecuted,  and  that  a  fine  monument 
will  soon  be  in  place  on  the  high  school  grounds. 

SODA  SPRINGS,  IDAHO. 

At  Soda  Springs,  739  miles  from  The  Dalles, 
the  next  place  where  an  attempt  was  made  to 
erect  a  monument,  a  committee  of  citizens  under- 
took the  work,  collected  the  funds  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument by  one  of  those  beautiful  bubbling  soda 
springs,  which  is  in  the  park  and  on  the  Trail. 

MONTPELIER,  IDAHO. 

Montpelier  proved  no  exception  to  what  ap- 
parently had  become  the  rule.  A  committee  of 
three  was  appointed  by  the  commercial  club  to 
take  charge  of  the  work  of  erecting  a  monument, 
a  contribution  from  members  and  citizens  so- 
licited, nearly  |30  collected  and  paid  into  the 
bank,  and  arrangements  made  for  increasing  the 
contributions  and  completing  the  monument 
were  made  before  the  team  arrived. 

A  pleasant  feature  of  the  occasion  was  the  call- 
ing of  a  meeting  of  the  woman's  club  at  the 


128  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

Hunter  hotel,  where  I  was  stopping,  and  a  reso- 
lution passed  to  thoroughly  canvass  the  town  for 
aid  in  the  work,  and  to  interest  the  school 
children. 

THE  MAD  BULL. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"June  7,  up  at  4:30;  started  at  5:30;  arrived 
at  Montpelier  11:00  a.m.  ...  A  dangerous 
and  exciting  incident  occurred  this  forenoon 
when  a  vicious  bull  attacked  the  team,  first  from 
one  side  and  then  the  other,  getting  in  between 
the  oxen  and  causing  them  to  nearly  upset  the 
wagon.  I  was  finally  thrown  down  in  the  m^l6e, 
but  escaped  unharmed,"  and  it  was  a  narrow 
escape  from  being  run  over  by  both  team  and 
wagon. 

THE  WOUNDED  BUFFALO. 

This  incident  reminded  me  of  a  "scrape**  one 
of  our  neighboring  trains  got  into  on  the  Platte 
in  1852  with  a  wounded  buffalo.  The  train  had 
encountered  a  large  herd  feeding  and  traveling 
at  right  angles  to  the  road.  The  older  heads  of 
the  party,  fearing  a  stampede  of  their  teams,  had 
given  orders  not  to  molest  the  buffaloes,  but  to 
give  their  whole  attention  to  care  of  the  teams. 


!EHB  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  128 

But  one  impulsire  young  fellow  would  not  be 
restrained  and  fired  into  the  herd  and  wounded 
a  large  bull.  Either  in  anger  or  from  confusion 
the  mad  bull  charged  upon  a  wagon  filled  with 
women  and  children  and  drawn  by  a  team  of 
mules.  He  became  entangled  in  the  harness  and 
on  the  tongue  between  the  mules.  An  eye-witness 
described  the  scene  as  "exciting  for  awhile."  It 
would  be  natural  for  the  women  to  scream,  the 
children  to  cry,  and  the  men  to  halloa,  but  the 
practical  question  was  how  to  dispatch  the  bull 
without  shooting  the  mules  as  well.  What  with 
multiplicity  of  counsel,  the  independent  action 
of  every  one,  each  having  a  plan  of  his  own,  there 
seemed  certain  to  be  some  fatalities  from  the  gun- 
shots of  the  large  crowd  of  trainmen  who  had 
forgotten  their  own  teams  and  rushed  to  the 
wagon  in  trouble.  As  in  this  incident  of  my  own, 
just  related,  nothing  was  harmed  and  no  one  was 
hurt,  but  when  it  was  over  all  agreed  it  was  past 
understanding  how  it  came  about  there  was  no 
loss  of  life  or  bodily  injury. 

COKEVILLE,  WYOMING. 

Cokeville,  800^4  miles  out  on  the  Trail  from 
The  Dalles,  and  near  the  junction  of  the  Sublet 


130 


THE   OX   TEAM   OE 


cut-off  with  the  more  southerly  trail,  resolved  to 
have  a  monument,  and  arrangements  were  com- 
pleted for  erecting  one  of  stone  from  a  nearby 
quarry  that  will  bear  witness  for  many  centuries. 


ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  SCENERY 


THE  OLD  OHEGON  TRAIL  131 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

THE  ROOKY  MOUNTAINS. 

FROM  Cokeville  to  Pacific  Springs,  just  west 
of  the  summit  of  the  Rocky  mountains  at 
South  Pass,  by  the  road  and  trail  we  traveled,  is 
158  miles.  Ninety  miles  of  this  stretch  is  away 
from  the  sound  of  the  locomotive,  the  click  of 
the  telegraph,  or  the  hello  girl.  It  is  a  great  ex- 
tension of  that  grand  mountain  range,  the  Rock- 
ies, from  six  to  seven  thousand  feet  above  sea 
level,  with  scant  vegetable  growth,  and  almost  a 
solitude  as  to  habitation,  save  here  and  there  a 
sheep-herder  or  his  typical  wagon  might  be  dis- 
covered. The  bold  coyote,  the  simple  antelope, 
and  the  cunning  sage  hen  still  hold  their  sway 
a-s  they  did  fifty-four  years  ago,  when  I  first  trav- 
ersed the  country.  The  old  Trail  is  there  in  all 
its  grandeur. 

"Why  mark  that  Trail?"  I  exclaim.  Miles  and 
miles  of  it  worn  so  deep  that  centuries  of  storm 
will  not  efface  it;  generations  may  pass  and  the 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  133 

origin  of  the  Trail  become  a  legend,  but  the 
marks  will  be  there  to  perplex  the  wondering 
eyes  of  those  who  people  the  continent  ten  cen- 
turies hence,  ay,  a  hundred  centuries,  I  am  ready 
to  say.  We  wonder  to  see  it  worn  fifty  feet  wide 
and  three  feet  deep  and  hasten  to  take  snap 
shots  at  it  with  kodak  and  camera.  But  what 
about  it  later,  after  we  are  over  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  ?  We  see  it  a  hundred  feet  wide  and 
fifteen  feet  deep,  two  tracks  or  more  abreast  as  like 
that  shown  in  the  illustration,  where  the  tramp  of 
thousands  upon  thousands  and  the  hoofs  of  millions 
of  animals  and  the  wheels  of  untold  numbers  of 
vehicles  has  loosened  the  soil  and  the  fierce  winds 
have  carried  it  away,  and  finally  we  find  ruts  a  foot 
deep  or  more,  worn  into  the  solid  rock  until  the 
axles  would  actually  drag  on  the  solid  rock,  compel- 
ing  the  opening  of  a  new  way.  "What  a  mighty 
movement,  this  over  the  old  Oregon  Trail,"  we 
exclaim  time  and  again,  each  time  with  greater 
wonderment  at  the  marvels  yet  to  be  seen,  and  hear 
the  stories  of  the  few  yet  left  of  those  who  saw,  felt, 
and  heard. 

Nor    do    we    escape    from    this    solitude    of    the 
western  slope  till  we  have  traveled  150  miles   east 


134  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

from  the  summit,  when  the  welcome  black  smoke 
of  the  locomotive  is  seen  in  the  distance,  at  Cas- 
per, a  stretch  of  250  miles  of  primitive  life  of  ye 
olden  times  of  fifty  years  ago. 

Nature's  freaks  in  the  Kocky  mountains  are 
beyond  my  power  of  description.  We  catch  sight 
of  one  a  few  miles  west  of  the  Little  Sandy  (see 
illustration)  without  name.  We  venture  to  call 
it  Tortoise  Eock,  from  the  resemblance  to  that 
animal,  with  head  erect  and  extended,  as  seen  in 
the  illustration.  Farther  on,  as  night  approaches, 
we  are  in  the  presence  of  animals  unused  to  the 
sight  of  man.     I  quote  from  my  journal; 

PACIFIC  SPRINGS. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"Pacific  Springs,  Wyoming,  Camp  No.  79, 
June  20,  1906,  odometer  958  (miles  from  The 
Dalles,  Oregon.)  Arrived  at  6:00  p.m.  and 
camped  near  Halter's  store  and  the  P.  O. ;  ice 
formed  in  camp  during  the  night.     .     .     . 

"Camp  No.  79,  June  21.  Remained  in  camp 
all  day  and  ^ot  down  to  solid  work  on  my  new 
book,  the  title  of  which  is  not  yet  developed  in 
mj  mind.     .     •    • 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TEAIL  135 

"Camp  No.  79,  June  22.  Remained  in  camp 
all  day  at  Pacific  Springs  and  searched  for  a 
suitable  stone  for  a  monument  to  be  placed  at 
the  summit.  After  almost  despairing,  I  sud- 
denly came  to  exactly  what  was  wanted,  and  al- 
though alone  on  the  mountain  side,  exclaimed, 
That  is  what  I  want;  that's  it.'  So,  a  little 
later,  after  procuring  help,  we  turned  it  over  to 
find  that  both  sides  were  flat ;  with  26  inches  face 
and  15  inches  thick  at  one  end  and  14  wide  and 
12  thick  at  the  other,  one  of  Nature's  own  handi- 
work, as  if  made  for  this  very  purpose,  to  stand 
on  the  top  of  the  mountains  for  the  centuries  to 
come'  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  genera- 
tions that  have  passed.  I  think  it  is  granite 
formation,  but  is  mixed  with  quartz  at  large  end 
and  very  hard.  Replaced  three  shoes  on  the 
Twist  ox  and  one  on  Dave  immediately  after 
dinner  and  hitched  the  oxen  to  Mr.  Halter's 
wagon,  and  with  the  help  of  four  men  loaded  the 
stone,  after  having  dragged  it  on  the  ground  and 
rocks  a  hundred  yards  or  so  down  the  mountain 
side;  estimated  weight,  1,000  pounds. 

"Camp  No.  79,  June  23.  Remained  here  in 
camp  while  inscribing  the  monument.  There  be- 
ing no  stone  cutter  here,  the  clerk  of  the  store 


136 


THE  OX  TEAM  OR 


forniied  the  letters  on  stiff  paste  boards  and  then  cut 
out  to  make  a  paper  stencil,  after  which  the  shape  of 
the  letters  was  transferred  to  the  stone  by  crayon 
marks.  The  letters  were  then  cut  with  the  cold 
chisel  deep  enough  to  make  a  permanent  inscription. 
The  stone   is  so  very  hard  that   it  required  steady 


work  all  day  to  cut  the  twenty  letters  and  figures, 
'The  Old  Ovvi^on  Trail,  1843-57.' 

"Camp    80,    June    24,   odometer    9701/2-     At  3:00 
o'clock    this    afternoon    erected    the    monument    de- 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TEAIL  137 

scribed  on  previous  page  on  the  summit  of  the 
South  Pass  at  a  point  on  the  Traii  described  by 
John  Limi,  civil  engineer,  as  42.21  north  latitude, 
108.53  west  longitude,  bearing  N.  47,  E.  240,  feet 
from  the  %  corner  between  sections  4  and  5,  T. 
27  N.,  R.  101  W.  of  the  6th  P.  M.  Elevation  as 
determined  by  aneroid  reading  June  24,  1906,  is 
7450. 

"Mr.  Linn  informs  me  the  survey  for  an  irri- 
gation ditch  to  take  the  waters  of  the  Sweetwater 
river  from  the  east  slope  of  the  range,  through 
the. South  Pass,  to  the  west  side,  runs  within  a 
hundred  feet  of  the  monument.'" 

"We  drove  out  of  Pacific  Springs  at  12:30, 
stopped  at  the  summit  to  dedicate  the  monument 
(see  illustration),  and  at  3:40  left  the  summit 
and  drove  twelve  miles  to  this  point,  called  Ore- 
gon Slough,  and  put  up  the  tent  after  dark.'' 

The  reader  may  think  of  the  South  Pass  of  the 
Rocky  mountains  as  a  precipitous  defile  through 
narrow  canyons  and  deep  gorges,  but  nothing  is 
farther  from  the  facts  than  such  imagined  condi- 
tions. One  can  drive  through  this  pass  for  sev- 
eral miles  without  realizing  he  has  passed  the 
dividing  line  between  the  waters  of  the  Pacific 
on  the  one  side  and  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  on  the 


138  THE    OX   TEAM   OB 

other,  while  traveling  over  a  broad,  open,  undu- 
lating prairie  the  approach  to  which  is  by  easy 
grades  and  the  descent  (going  east)  scarcely 
noticeable. 

Certainly,  if  my  memory  is  worth  anything,  in 
1852,  some  of  our  party  left  the  road  but  a  short 
distance  to  find  banks  of  drifted  snow  in  low 
places  in  July,  but  none  was  in  sight  on  the  level 
of  the  road  as  we  came  along  in  June  of  1906. 
This  was  one  of  the  landmarks  that  looked  fa- 
miliar, as  all  who  were  toiling  west  looked  upon 
this  spot  as  the  turning  point  in  their  journey, 
and  that  they  had  left  the  worst  of  the  trip  be- 
hind them, — ^poor,  innocent  souls  as  we  were, 
not  realizing  that  our  mountain  climbing  in  the 
way  of  rough  roads  only  began  a  long  way  out 
west  of  the  summit  of  the  Rockies. 


THB  OLD  OUEGON  TRAIL  139 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Ox  Team^  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

SWEETWATER. 

THE  sight  of  Sweetwater  river,  twenty  miles 
out  from  the  Pass,  revived  many  pleasant 
memories  and  some  sad.  I  could  remember  the 
sparkling,  clear  water,  the  green  skirt  of  under- 
growth along  the  banks  and  the  restful  camps  as 
we  trudged  along  up  the  stream  so  many  years 
ago.  And  now  I  see  the  same  channel,  the  same 
hills,  and  apparently  the  same  waters  swiftly 
passing;  but  where  are  the  campfires;  where  the 
herds  of  gaunt  cattle ;  where  the  sound  of  the  din 
of  bells;  the  hallowing  for  lost  children;  the 
cursing  of  irate  ox  drivers;  the  pleading  for 
mercy  from  some  humane  dame  for  the  half-fam- 
ished dumb  brute;  the  harsh  sounds  from  some 
violin  in  camp;  the  merry  shout  of  thoughtless 
children ;  or  the  little  groups  off  on  the  hillside  to 
bury  the  dead?  All  gone.  An  oppressive  silence 
prevailed  as  we  drove  down  to  the  river  and 
pitched  camp  within  a  few  feet  of  the  bank  where 


140  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

we  could  hear  the  rippling  waters  passing  and  see 
the  fish  leaping  in  the  eddies.  We  had  our  choice 
of  a  camping  place  just  by  the  skirt  of  refreshing 
green  brush  with  an  opening  to  give  full  view  of 
the  river.  Not  so  in  '52  with  hundreds  of  camps 
ahead  of  you.  One  must  take  what  he  could  get, 
and  that  in  many  cases  would  be  far  back  from 
the  water  and  removed  from  other  conveniences. 
The  sight  and  smell  of  the  carrion  so  common 
in  camping  places  in  our  first  trip  was  gone;  no 
bleached  bones  even  showed  where  the  exhausted 
dumb  brute  had  died ;  the  graves  of  the  dead  emi- 
grants had  all  been  leveled  by  the  hoofs  of  stock 
and  the  lapse  of  time.  "What  a  mighty  change !" 
I  exclaimed.  We  had  been  following  the  old  Trail 
for  nearly  150  miles  on  the  west  slope  of  the 
mountains  with  scarce  a  vestige  of  civilization. 
Out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  railroads,  telegraphs, 
or  telephones  and  nearly  a  hundred  miles  with- 
out a  postoflftce.  It  is  a  misnomer  to  call  it  a 
"slope."  It  is  nearly  as  high  an  altitude  a  hun- 
dred miles  west  of  the  summit  as  the  summit  it- 
self. The  country  remains  as  it  was  fifty-four 
years  before.  The  Trail  is  there  to  be  seen  miles 
and  miles  ahead,  worn  bare  and  deep,  with  but 
one  narrow  track  where  there  used  to  be  a  dozen, 


THE   OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  141 

and  with  the  beaten  path  so  solid  that  vegetation 
has  not  yet  recovered  from  the  scourge  of  pass- 
ing hoofs  and  tires  of  wagon  years  ago. 

Like  as  in  1852  when  the  summit  was  passed  I 
felt  that  ray  task  was  much  more  than  half  done, 
though  the  distance  was  scarcely  half  compassed. 
I  felt  we  were  entitled  to  a  rest  even  though  it 
was  a  solitude,  and  so  our  preparations  were 
made  for  two  days'  rest  if  not  recreation.  The 
two  days  passed  and  we  saw  but  three  persons. 
We  traveled  a  week  on  this  stretch,  to  encounter 
five  persons  only,  and  to  see  but  one  wagon,  but 
our  guide  to  point  the  way  was  at  hand  all  the 
time — a  pioneer  way  a  hundred  feet  wide  and  in 
places  ten  feet  deep,  we  could  not  mistake.  Our 
way  from  this  Camp  No.  81  on  Sweetwater  led 
us  from  the  river  and  over  hills  for  fifty  miles 
before  we  were  back  to  the  river  again.  Not  so 
my  Trail  of  '52,  for  then  we  followed  the  river 
closer  and  crossed  it  several  times,  while  part  of 
the  people  went  over  the  hills  and  made  the  sec- 
ond trail.  It  was  on  this  last  stretch  we  set  our 
1,000  mile  post  as  we  reached  nearly  the  summit 
of  a  very  long  hill,  eighteen  miles  west  of  where 
we  again  encountered  the  river,  saw  a  telegraph 
line,  and  a  road  where  more  than  one  wagon  a 


142  THE  OX  TEAM   OE 

week  passed  as  like  that  we  had  been  following 
so  long. 

SPLIT  ROOK. 

I  quote  from  my  journal: 

"Camp  No.  85,  June  30,  odometer  1,044. 

"About  10 :00  o'clock  encountered  a  large  num- 
ber of  big  flies  that  ran  the  cattle  nearly  wild. 
We  fought  them  off  as  best  we  could.  I  stood  on 
the  wagon  tongue  for  miles  so  I  could  reach  them 
with  the  whip  stock.  The  cattle  were  so  excited, 
we  did  not  stop  at  noon,  finding  water  on  the 
way,  but  drove  on  through  by  2 :30  and  camped 
Tor  the  day  at  a  farm  house,  the  Split  Rock  post- 
office,  the  first  we  had  found  since  leaving  Pacific 
Springs,  the  other  side  the  summit  of  South  Pass 
and  eighty-five  miles  distant." 

"Split  Rock"  postoffice  derives  its  name  from 
a  rift  in  the  mountain  a  thousand  feet  or  more 
high,  as  though  a  part  of  the  range  had  been 
bodily  moved  a  rod  or  so,  leaving  this  perpen- 
dicular chasm  through  the  range,  which  was  nar- 
row. This  is  the  first  farmhouse  we  have  seen, 
and  near  by  the  first  attempt  at  farming  this  side 
(east)  of  the  Rocky  mountains. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  143 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

THE  DEVIL'S  GATE. 

THE  DeviFs  Gate  (see  illustration,  page  144) 
and  Independence  Rock  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant are  probably  the  two  best  known  landmarks 
on  the  Trail, — the  one  for  its  grotesque  and  strik- 
ing scenic  effect.^  Here,  as  at  Split  Rock,  the 
mountain  seems  as  if  it  had  been  split  apart,  leav- 
ing an  opening  a  few  rods  wide  and  nearly  five 
hundred  feet  high,  through  which  the  Sweetwater 
river  pours  as  a  veritable  torrent.  The  river  first 
approaches  to  within  a  few  hundred  feet  of  the 
gap,  and  then  suddenly  curves  away  from  it,  and 
after  winding  through  the  valley  for  half  a  mile 
or  so,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  it  takes  a 
straight  shoot  and  makes  the  plunge  through  the 
canyon.  Those  who  have  had  the  impression  they 
drove  their  teams  through  this  gap  are  simply 
mistaken,  for  it 's  a  feat  no  mortal  man  has  done 
or  can  do,  no  more  than  they  could  drive  up  the 
falls  of  the  Niagara. 


UKVIL  S  UAib 


THB  OLD  CMCEGON   TRAIL  145 

This  year,  on  my  1906  trip  I  did  clamber 
through  on  the  left  bank,  over  boulders  head  high, 
under  shelving  rocks  where  the  sparrows'  nests 
were  in  full  possession,  and  ate  some  ripe  wild 
gooseberries  from  the  bushes  growing  on  the  bor- 
der of  the  river,  and  plucked  some  beautiful  wild 
roses,  this  on  the  2d  day  of  July,  A.D.  1906.  I 
wonder  why  those  wild  roses  grow  there  where 
nobody  will  see  them?  Why  these  sparrows* 
nests?  Why  did  this  river  go  through  this  gorge 
instead  of  breaking  the  barrier  a  little  to  the 
south  where  the  easy  road  runs?  These  ques- 
tions run  through  my  mind,  and  why  I  know  not. 
The  gap  through  the  mountains  looked  familiar 
as  I  spied  it  from  the  distance,  but  the  road-bed 
to  the  right  I  had  forgotten.  I  longed  to  see  this 
place,  for  here,  somewhere  under  the  sands,  lies 
all  that  was  mortal  of  a  brother,  Clark  Meeker, 
drowned  in  the  Sweetwater  in  1854  while  at- 
tempting to  crpss  the  Plains;  would  I  be  able  to 
see  and  identify  the  grave?    No. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"Camp  No.  86,  July  2,  odometer  1,059.  This 
camp  is  at  Tom  Sun's  place,  the  Sun  postoffice, 
Wyoming,  and  is  in  S.  35,  T.  29  N.,  R.  87,  6  P.  M. 
and  it  is  one-half  mile  to  the  upper  end  of  the 


146  THE  OX   TEAM   OS 

Devil's  Gate  (see  illustration,  page  144),  through 
which  the  Sweetwater  runs.    The  passage  is  not 
more  than  100  feet  wide  and  is  1,300  feet  through 
with  walls  483  feet  at  highest  point.    The  altitude 
is  5,860.27,  according  to  the  United  States  geo- 
logical survey  marks.    It  is  one  of  nature's  mar- 
vels, this  rift  in  the  mountain  to  let  the  waters  of 
the    Sweetwater   through.      Mr.    Tom    Sun,    or 
Thompson,  has  lived  here  thirty-odd  years  and 
says  there  are  numerous  graves  of  the  dead  pio- 
neers, but  all  have  been  leveled  by  the  tramp  of 
stock,  225,000  of  cattle  alone  having  passed  over 
the  Trail  in  1882  and  in  some  single  years  over 
half  a  million  sheep.    But  the  Trail  is  deserted 
now,"  and  scarcely  five  wagons  pass  in  a  week 
with  part  of  the  road-bed  grown  up  in  grass. 
That  mighty  movement,  tide  shall  we  call  it,  of 
suffering    humanity    first    going    west,    accom- 
panied    and     afterwards     followed     by     hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  stock,  with  the  mightier 
ebb  of  millions  upon  millions  of  returning  cattle 
and  sheep  going  east,  has  all  ceased,  and  now 
the  road  is  a  solitude  save  a  few  struggling  wag- 
ons, or  here  and  there  a  local  flock  driven  to  pas- 
ture.    Small  wonder  we  look  in  vain   for  the 
graves  of  the  dead  with  this  great  throng  passing 
and  repassing. 


THE   OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  147 

A  pleasant  little  anecdote  is  told  by  his  neigh- 
bors of  the  odd  name  of  "Tom  Sun,"  borne  by 
that  sturdy  yeoman  (a  Swede,  I  think)  whose 
fame  for  fair  dealing  and  liberality  I  could  hear 
of  upon  all  sides.  The  story  runs  that  when  he 
first  went  to  the  bank,  then  and  now  sixty  miles 
away  to  deposit,  the  cashier  asked  his  name  and 
received  the  reply  Thompson,  emphasizing  the 
last  syllable  pronounced  with  so  much  emphasis, 
that  it  was  written  Tom  Sun  and  from  necessity 
a  check  had  to  be  so  signed.  The  name  became 
generally  known  as  such  and  finally  a  postoffice 
was  named  after  it. 


148  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

INDEPENDENCE  BOCK. 

**Camp  No.  87,  July  3,  1906,  odometer  1,065, 
Independence  Kock.  We  drove  over  to  the  *Roek,' 
from  the  ^Devirs  Gate,'  a  distance  of  six  miles, 
and  camped  at  10 :00  o'clock  for  the  day. 

*^Not  being  conversant  with  the  work  done  by 
others  to  perpetuate  their  names  on  this  famous 
boulder  that  covers  nearly  forty  acres  and  is  a 
mile  around  it,  we  groped  our  way  among  the 
inscriptions  to  find  most  of  them  nearly  obliter- 
ated and  many  legible  only  in  part,  showing  how 
impotent  the  efforts  of  individuals  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  their  own  names,  and,  may  I  not 
add,  how  foolish  it  is,  in  most  cases,  forgetting 
as  these  individuals  have,  that  it  is  actions,  not 
words,  even  if  engraved  upon  stone,  that  carry 
one's  name  down  to  future  generations.  We 
walked  all  the  way  around  the  stone,  which,  as  I 
have  said,  was  nearly  a  mile  around,  of  irregular 
shape,  and  about  one  hundred  feet  high,  the  walls 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  149 

being  so  precipitous  as  to  prevent  ascending  to 
the  top  except  in  a  couple  of  vantage  points. 
Unfortunately,  we  missed  the  Fremont  inscrip- 
tion made  in  1842/' 

Of  this  inscription  Fremont  writes  in  his 
journal : 

"August  23  (1842),  yesterday  evening  we 
reached  our  encampment  at  Kock  Independence, 
where  I  took  some  astronomical  observations. 
Here,  not  unmindful  of  the  custom  of  early  trav- 
elers and  explorers  in  our  country,  I  engraved 
on  this  rock  of  the  Far  West  a  symbol  of  the 
Christian  faith.  Among  the  thickly  inscribed 
names,  I  made  on  the  hard  granite  the  impression 
of  a  large  cross,  which  I  covered  with  a  black 
preparation  of  India  rubber,  well  calculated  to 
resist  the  influence  of  wind  and  rain.  It  stands 
amidst  the  names  of  many  who  have  long  since 
found  their  way  to  the  grave,  and  for  whom  the 
huge  rock  is  a  giant  gravestone. 

"One  George  Weymouth  was  sent  out  to  Maine 
by  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  Lord  Arundel,  and 
others;  and  in  the  narrative  of  their  discoveries 
he  says :  The  next  day,  we  ascended  in  our  pin- 
nace that  part  of  the  river  which  lies  more  to  the 
westward,   carrying   with   us   a   cross — sl  thing 


150  THE   OX   TEAM   01 

never  omitted  by  any  Christian  traveler — which 
we  erected  at  the  ultimate  end  of  our  route.' 
This  was  in  the  year  1605 ;  and  in  1842  I  obeyed 
the  feeling  of  early  travelers,  and  left  the  impres- 
sion of  the  cross  deeply  engraved  on  the  vast 
rock  1,000  miles  beyond  the  Mississippi,  to  which 
discoverers  have  given  the  national  name  of  Rock 
Independence.'^ 

The  reader  will  note  that  Frtoont  writes  in 
1842  of  the  name,  "to  which  discoverers  have 
given  the  national  name  of  Independence  Rock," 
showing  that  the  naming  of  the  Rock  long  ante- 
dated his  visit,  as  he  had  inscribed  the  cross 
"amidst  the  names  of  many." 

Of  recent  years  the  traveled  road  leads  to  the 
left  of  the  Rock,  going  eastward,  instead  of  to 
the  right  and  nearer  the  left  bank  of  the  Sweet- 
water, as  in  early  years ;  and  so  I  selected  a  spot 
on  the  westward  sloping  face  of  the  stone  for  the 
inscription,  "Old  Oregon  Trail,  1843-57,"  near 
the  present  traveled  road  where  people  can  see 
it,  as  shown  in  the  illustration,  and  inscribed  it 
with  as  deep  cut  letters  as  we  could  make  with  a 
dulled  cold  chisel,  and  painted  the  sunken  letters 
with  the  best  of  sign  writers'  paint  in  oil.  On 
this  expedition,  where  possible,  1  have  in  like 


TUB   OLD  OREGON    TKML 


151 


manner  Inscribed  a  number  of  boulders,  with 
paint  only,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  before  the 


INDEPEJ^DErsCE    ROCK. 


life  of  the  paint  has  gone  out,  may  find  loving 
hands  to  inscribe  deep  into  the  stone;  but  here 


152  THE  OX   TEAM  OB 

on  this  huge  boulder  I  hope  the  inscription  may 
last  for  centuries,  though  not  as  deeply  cut  as  I 
would  have  liked  had  we  but  had  suitable  tools. 

FISH  GREEK. 

Eleven  miles  out  from  Independence  Rock  we 
nooued  on  the  bank  of  a  small  stream,  well 
named  Fish  creek,  for  it  literally  swarmed  with 
fish  of  suitable  size  for  the  pan,  but  they  would 
not  bite,  and  we  had  no  appliances  for  catching 
with  a  net,  and  so  consoled  ourselves  with  the 
exclamation  they  were  suckers  only,  and  we 
did  n't  care,  but  I  came  away  with  the  feeling 
that  maybe  we  were  "suckers"  ourselves  for  hav- 
ing wet  a  blanket  in  the  attempt  to  seine  them, 
got  into  the  water  over  boot  top  deep,  and  worked 
all  the  noon  hour  instead  of  resting  as  like  an 
elderly  person  should  and  as  like  the  oxen  did. 

NORTH  PLATTE  RIVER. 

Our  next  camp  brought  us  to  the  North  Platte 
river,  fifteen  miles  above  the  town  of  Casper. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"Camp  No.  89,  North  Platte  river,  July  5, 1906, 
odometer  1,104,  distance  traveled  twenty-two 
miles. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  153 

"We  followed  the  old  Trail  till  near  4 :00  p.m. 
and  then  came  to  the  forks  of  the  traveled  road, 
with  the  Trail  untraveled  by  any  one  going 
straight  ahead  between  the  two  roads.  I  took 
the  right-hand  road,  fearing  the  other  led  off  too 
far  north,  and  anyway  the  one  taken  would  lead 
us  to  the  North  Platte  river ;  and  on  the  old  Trail 
there  would  be  no  water,  as  we  were  informed, 
until  we  reached  Casper.  We  did  not  arrive  at 
the  Platte  river  until  after  dark,  and  then  found 
there  was  no  feed;  got  some  musty  alfalfa  hay 
the  cattle  would  not  eat;  had  a  little  cracked 
corn  we  had  hauled  nearly  300  miles  from  Kem- 
merer,  and  had  fed  them  the  last  of  it  in  the  after- 
noon; went  to  bed  in  the  wagon,  first  watering 
the  cattle,  after  dark,  from  the  North  Platte, 
which  I  had  not  seen  for  over  fifty-four  years,  as 
I  had  passed  fifteen  miles  below  here  the  last  of 
June,  1852. 

"Several  times  during  the  afternoon  there  were 
threatening  clouds,  accompanied  by  distant  light- 
ning, and  at  one  time  a  black  cloud  in  the  center, 
with  rapid  moving  clouds  around  it  made  me 
think  of  a  tornado,  but  finally  disappeared  with- 
out striking  us.    Heavy  wind  at  night. 


164  THE   OX   TEAM   OS 

"This  afternoon  as  we  were  driving,  with  both 
in  the  wagon,  William  heard  the  rattles  of  a 
snake,  and  jumped  out  of  the  wagon  and  thought- 
lessly called  the  dog.  I  stopped  the  wagon  and 
called  the  dog  away  from  the  reptile  until  it  was 
killed.  When  stretched  out  it  measured  four  feet 
eight  inches,  and  had  eight  rattles. 

CASPER,  WYOMING. 

T  quote  from  my  journal : 

''Camp  No.  90,  odometer  1,1171/2,  Casper,  Wy- 
oming, July  6.  At  the  noon  hour,  while  eating 
dinner,  seven  miles  out,  we  heard  the  whistle  of 
the  locomotive,  something  we  had  neither  seen 
nor  heard  for  nearly  300  miles.  As  soon  as  lunch 
was  over  I  left  the  wagon  and  walked  in  ahead  of 
the  team  to  select  camping  ground,  secure  feed, 
and  get  the  mail ;  received  twenty  letters,  several 
from  home. 

"Fortunately  a  special  meeting  of  the  commer- 
cial club  was  held  this  evening,  and  I  laid  the 
matter  of  building  a  monument  before  them,  with 
the  usual  result:  they  resolved  to  build  one  and 
opened  the  subscription  at  once,  and  appointed  a 
committee  to  carry  the  work  forward.  I  am  as- 
sured by  several  prominent  citizens  that  a  9500 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  155 

mormment  will  be  erected,"  as  the  city  council 
will  join  with  the  club  to  provide  for  a  fountain 
as  well,  and  place  it  on  the  most  public  street- 
crossing  of  the  city. 

Glen  Rock  was  the  next  place  in  our  itinerary, 
which  we  reached  at  dark,  after  haying  driven 
twenty-five  and  one-fourth  miles.  This  is  the 
longest  drive  we  have  made  on  the  whole  trip. 

GLEN  ROCK. 

Glen  Rock  is  a  small  village,  but  the  ladies  met 
and  resolved  they  "would  have  as  nice  a  monu- 
ment as  Casper,"  even  if  it  did  not  cost  as  much, 
because  there  was  a  stone  quarry  out  but  six 
miles  from  town.  One  enthusiastic  lady  said 
"we  will  inscribe  it  ourselves,  if  no  stone  cutter 
can  be  had."  "  'Where  there 's  a  will  there 's  a 
way,'  as  the  old  adage  runs,"  I  said  as  we  left  the 
nice  little  burg  and  said  good-bye  to  the  energetic 
ladies  in  it.  Gpd  bless  the  women  anyhow;  I 
do  n't  see  how  the  world  could  get  along  without 
them ;  and  anyway  I  do  n't  see  what  life  would 
have  been  to  me  without  that  little  faithful  com- 
panion that  came  over  this  very  same  ground 
with  me  fifty-four  years  ago  and  still  lives  to  re- 
joice for  the  many,  many  blessings  vouchsafed  to 
us  and  our  descendants. 


156  THB   OX   TBAM  Oft 

DOUGLAS,  WYOMINQ. 

At  Douglas,  Wyoming,  1,177^^  miles  out  from 
The  Dalles,  the  people  at  first  seemed  reluctant 
to  assume  the  responsibility  of  erecting  a  monu- 
ment, everybody  being  "too  busy''  to  give  up  any 
time  to  it,  but  were  willing  to  contribute.  After 
a  short  canvass,  $52  was  contributed,  a  local  com- 
mittee appointed,  and  an  organized  effort  to  erect 
a  monument  was  well  in  hand  before  we  drove 
out  of  the  town. 

I  here  witnessed  one  of  those  heavy  downpours 
like  some  I  remember  in  '52,  where,  as  in  this 
case,  the  water  came  down  in  veritable  sheets 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  turned  all  the 
slopes  into  roaring  torrents  and  level  places  into 
lakes ;  the  water  ran  six  inches  deep  in  the  streets 
in  this  case,  on  a  very  heavy  grade  the  whole 
width  of  the  street. 

I  quote  from  my  journal : 

"Camp  No.  95,  July  12,  odometer  1,192.  We 
are  camped  under  the  shade  of  a  group  of  balm 
trees  in  the  Platte  bottom  near  the  bridge  at  the 
farm  of  a  company,  Dr.  J.  M.  Wilson  in  charge, 
where  we  found  a  good  vegetable  garden  and 
were  bidden  to  help  ourselves,  which  I  did,  with 
&  liberal  hand,  to  a  feast  of  young  onions,  rad< 
ishes,  beets,  and  lettuce  enoui^  for  several  days." 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  157 

PUYALLUP—TAOOMA— SEATTLE. 

This  refreshing  shade  and  these  spreading 
balms  carried  me  back  to  the  little  cabin  home 
in  the  Puyallup  valley,  1,500  miles  away,  where 
we  had  for  so  long  a  period  enjoyed  the  cool 
shades  of  the  native  forests,  enlivened  by  the 
charms  of  songsters  at  peep  of  day,  with  the  drip- 
ping dew  off  the  leaves  like  as  if  a  shower  had 
fallen  over  the  forest.  Having  now  passed  the 
1,200-mile  mark  out  from  The  Dalles,  with 
scarcely  the  vestige  of  timber  life,  except  in  the 
snows  of  the  Blue  mountains,  one  can  not  wonder 
that  my  mind  should  run  back  to  not  only  the 
little  cabin  home  as  well  as  to  the  more  preten- 
tious residence  near  by;  to  the  time  when  our 
homestead  of  160  acres,  granted  us  by  this  great 
government  of  the  people,  was  a  dense  forest; 
when  the  little  clearing  was  so  isolated  we  could 
see  naught  else  but  walls  of  timber  around  us; 
timber  that  required  the  labor  of  one  man  twelve 
years  to  remove  it  off  a  quarter  section  of  land; 
of  the  time  when  trails  only  reached  the  spot; 
when,  as  the  poet  wrote, 

"Oxen  answered  well  for  team. 
Though  now  they'd  be  too  slow;" 

when  the  semimonthly  mail  was  eagerly  looked 


158  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

for;  when  the  Tribune  would  be  reread  again  and 
again  before  the  new  supply  came;  when  the 
morning  hours  before  breakfast  were  our  only 
school  hours  for  the  children;  when  the  home- 
made shoe  pegs  and  the  home-shaped  shoe  lasts 
answered  for  making  and  mending  the  shoes,  and 
the  home-saved  bristle  for  the  waxed  end;  when 
the  Indians,  if  not  our  nearest  neighbors,  I  had 
liked  to  have  said  our  best;  when  the  meat  in 
the  barrel  and  the  flour  in  the  box,  in  spite  of  the 
most  strenuous  efforts,  would  at  times  run  low; 
when  the  time  for  labor  would  be  much  nearer 
eighteen  than  eight  hours  a  day. 

^^Supper.'^  Supper  is  ready;  and  when  re- 
peated in  more  imperative  tones,  I  at  last  awake 
to  inhale  the  fragrant  flavors  of  that  most  deli- 
cious beverage,  camp  coffee,  from  the  Mocha  and 
Java  mixed  grain  that  had  "just  come  to  a  boil," 
and  to  realize  there  was  something  else  in  the  air 
when  the  bill  of  fare  was  scanned. 

MENU. 

Calf  s  liver,  fried  crisp,  with  bacon. 
Coffee,  with  cream,  and  a  lump  of  butter  added. 
Lettuce,  with  vinegar  and  sugar. 
Young  onionA. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  159 

Boiled  young  carrots. 

Radishes. 

Beets,  covered  with  vinegar. 

Cornmeal  mush,  cooked  forty  minutes,  in  re- 
serve and  for  a  breakfast  fry. 

These  "delicacies  of  the  season,"  coupled  with 
the — what  shall  I  call  it? — delicious  appetite  in- 
cident to  a  strenuous  day's  travel  and  a  late  sup- 
per hour,  without  a  dinner  padding  in  the  stom- 
ach, aroused  me  to  a  sense  of  the  necessities  of 
the  inner  man,  and  to  that  keen  relish  incident 
to  prolonged  exertion  and  an  open-air  life,  and 
justice  was  meted  out  to  the  second  meal  of  the 
day  following  a  5:00  o'clock  breakfast. 

I  awoke  also  to  the  fact  that  I  was  on  the  spot 
near  where  I  had  camped  fifty-four  years  ago  in 
this  same  Platte  valley,  then  api^arently  almost 
a  desert.  Now  what  do  I  see?  As  we  drew  into 
camp  two  mowing  machines  cutting  the  alfalfa; 
two  or  more  teams  raking  the  cured  hay  to  the 
rick,  and  a  huge  fork  or  rake  at  intervals  climb- 
ing the  steep  in(!?line  of  fenders  to  above  the  top 
of  the  rick,  and  depositing  its  equivalent  of  a 
wagon-load  at  a  time.  To  my  right,  as  we  drove 
through  the  gate  the  large  garden  looked  tempt- 
ingly near,  as  did  some  rows  of  small  fruit.  Hay 
11 


160  THM  OX   TKAM    OR 

rlcln  dotted  tb«^  field,  and  outhouses,  barns,  and 
dwellings  at  the  home.  We  are  in  the  midst  of 
plenty  and  the  guests,  we  may  almost  say,  of 
friends,  instead  of  feeling  we  must  deposit  the 
trusted  rifle  in  convenient  place  while  we  eat. 
Yes,  we  will  exclaim  again,  "What  wondrous 
changes  tinu*  has  wrought!" 

But  my  mind  will  go  back  to  the  little  ivy- 
covered  cabin  now  so  carefully  preserved  in  Pio- 
neer Park  in  the  little  pretentious  city  of  Pu- 
yallup,  that  was  once  our  homestead,  and  so  long 
our  home,  and  where  the  residence  still  stands 
near  by.  The  timber  is  all  gone  and  in  its  place 
brick  blocks  and  pleasant,  modest  homes  are 
found;  where  the  roots  and  stumps  once  occupied 
the  ground  now  smiling  fruit  gardens  adorn  the 
landscape  and  fill  the  purses  of  400  fruit  grow- 
ers, and  supply  the  wants  of  4,000  people.  In- 
stead of  the  slow,  trudging  ox  team,  driven  to  the 
market  town  sixteen  miles  distant,  with  a  day  in 
camp  on  the  way,  I  see  fifty-four  railroad  trains 
a  day  thundering  through  the  town.  I  see  elec- 
tric lines  with  crowded  cars  carrying  passengers 
to  tide  water  and  to  that  rising  city  of  Tacoma, 
but  seven  miles  distant.  I  see  a  quarter  of  a 
million  people  within  a  radius  of  thirty  miles, 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  161 

where  solitude  reigned  supreme  fifty-four  years 
ago,  save  the  song  of  the  Indians,  the  thump  of 
his  canoe  paddle,  or  the  din  of  his  gambling  rev- 
els. When  I  go  down  to  the  Sound  I  see  a  mile 
of  shipping  docks  where  before  the  waters  rip- 
pled over  a  pebbly  beach  filled  with  shell  fish.  I 
look  farther,  and  see  hundreds  of  steamers  plying 
hither  and  yon  on  the  great  inland  sea,  where 
fifty-four  years  ago  the  Indian's  canoe  only  noise- 
lessly skimmed  the  water.  I  see  hundreds  of  sail 
vessels  that  whiten  every  sea  of  the  globe,  being 
either  towed  here  and  there  or  at  dock,  receiving 
or  discharging  cargo,  where  before  scarce  a  dozen 
had  in  a  year  ventured  the  voyage.  At  the  docks 
of  Seattle  I  see  the  28,000-ton  steamers  receiving 
their  monster  cargoes  for  the  Orient,  and  am  re- 
minded that  these  monsters  can  enter  any  of  the 
numerous  harbors  of  Puget  Sound  and  are  sup- 
plemented by  a  ^eat  array  of  other  steam  ton- 
nage contending  for  that  vast  across-sea  trade, 
and  again  exclaim  with  greater  wonderment 
than  ever,  "What  wondrous  changes  time  has 
wrought!''  If  I  look  through  the  channels  of 
Puget  Sound,  I  yet  see  the  forty  islands  or  more ; 
its  sixteen  hundred  miles  of  shore  line;  its  schools 
of  fish,  and  at  intervals  the  seal;  its  myriads  of 


162  THE   OX    TEAM   OB 

sea  gulls;  the  hawking  crow;  the  clam  beds;  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  still  there.  But  many 
happy  homes  dot  the  shore  line  where  the  dense 
forests  stood;  the  wild  fruits  have  given  way  to 
the  cultivated;  train-loads  of  fruit  go  out  to  dis- 
tant markets;  and  what  we  once  looked  upon 
as  barren  land  now  gives  plenteous  crops; 
and  we  again  exclaim,  "What  wondrous  changes 
time  has  wrought,"  or  shall  we  not  say, 
"What  wondrous  changes  the  hand  of  man  has 
wrought  I" 

But  I  am  admonished  I  have  wandered  and 
must  needs  get  back  to  our  narrative  1852-1906. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         163 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

FORT  LARAMIE,  WYOMING. 

T    QUOTE  from  my  journal : 

1  "Camp  No.  99,  July  16,  Fort  Laramie,  odom- 
eter 1,247.  From  the  time  we  crossed  the  Mis- 
souri in  May,  1852,  until  we  arrived  opposite  this 
place  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Platte,  no  place  or 
name  was  so  universally  in  the  minds  of  the  emi- 
grants as  old  Fort  Laramie;  here,  we  eagerly 
looked  for  letters  that  never  came — ^maybe  our 
friends  and  relatives  had  not  written ;  maybe  they 
had  and  the  letter  lost  or  dumped  somewhere  in 
'The  States';  but  now  all  hope  vanished  to  hear 
from  home  till  the  long  journey  was  ended  and 
a  missive  reach  us  by  the  Isthmus  or  maybe  by  a 
sail  vessel  around  Cape  Horn.  Now,  as  I  write, 
I  know  my  letter  written  in  the  morning  will  at 
night  be  on  the  banks  of  the  great  river,  and  so 
for  each  day  of  the  year.  One  never  ceases  to  ex- 
claim, *What  changes  time  has  wrought !'  What 
wondrous  changes  in  these  fifty-four  years,  since 


164  THE   OX   TEAM   0» 

I  first  set  foot  on  the  banks  of  the  Platte  and 
looked  longingly  across  the  river  for  the  letter 
that  never  came. 

"This  morning  at  4 :30  the  alarm  sounded,  but 
in  spite  of  our  strenuous  efforts  the  start  was 
delayed  till  6:15.  Conditions  were  such  as  to 
give  us  a  hot  day,  but  the  cattle  would  not  travel 
without  eating  the  grass  in  the  road,  having  for 
some  cause  not  liked  the  grass  they  were  on  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  so,  after  driving  a  couple  of 
miles  and  finding  splendid  feed,  we  turned  them 
out  to  fill  up,  which  they  speedily  did,  and  there- 
after became  laggards,  too  lazy  for  anything.  So 
after  all  we  did  not  arrive  here  till  4 :00,  and  with 
dinner  at  six  small  wonder  if  we  had  good 
appetites. 

"Locally  it  is  difficult  to  get  accurate  informa- 
tion. All  agree  there  is  no  vestige  of  the  old 
Traders  Camp  or  the  first  United  States  Fort 
left,  but  disagree  as  to  its  location.  The  new 
fort  (not  a  fort,  but  an  encampment)  covers  a 
space  of  thirty  or  forty  acres  with  all  sorts  of 
buildings  and  ruins,  from  the  old  barracks,  three 
hundred  feet  long,  in  good  preservation  and  oc- 
cupied by  the  present  owner,  Joseph  Wild,  as  a 
store,  postoffice,  saloon,  hotel,  and  family  resi- 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         165 

dence,  to  the  old  guard-house  with  its  grim  irou 
door  and  twenty-inch  concrete  walls.  One  frame 
building,  two  stories,  we  are  told,  was  trans- 
ported from  Kansas  City  at  a  cost  of  $100  per  ton 
freight  by  ox  teams.  There  seems  to  be  no  plan 
either  in  the  arrangements  of  the  buildings  or  of 
the  buildings  themselves.  I  noticed  one  building, 
part  stone,  part  concrete,  part  adobe,  and  part 
of  burnt  brick.  The  concrete  walls  of  one  build- 
ing measured  twenty- two  inches  thick  and  there 
is  evidence  of  the  use  of  lime  with  a  lavish  hand, 
and  I  think  all  of  them  are  alike  massive. 

"The  location  of  the  barracks  is  in  Sec.  28,  T. 
26  N.,  R.  64  W.  of  6th  P.  M.,  United  States 
survey.'* 

SOOTTSBLUFF. 

We  drove  out  from  the  town  of  Scottsbluff  to 
the  left  bank  of  the  North  Platte,  less  than  a  mile 
from  the  town,  to  a  point  nearly  opposite  that 
noted  landmark,  Scotts  Bluff,  on  the  right  bank, 
looming  up  near  eight  hundred  feet  above  the 
river  and  adjoining  green  fields,  and  photo- 
graphed the  bluffs  and  section  of  the  river. 

Probably  no  emigrant  of  early  days  but  re- 
members Scottsbluff,  which  could  be  seen  for  so 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TSAIL  167 

long  a  distance,  and  yet  apparently  so  near  for 
days  and  days,  till  it  finally  sank  out  of  sight  as 
we  passed  on,  and  new  objects  came  into  view. 
Like  as  with  Turtle  Eock  (see  illustration)  the 
formation  is  sand  and  clay  cemented,  yet  soft 
enough  to  cut  easily,  and  is  constantly  changing 
in  smaller  details. 

We  certainly  saw  Scottsbluff  while  near  the 
junction  of  the  two  rivers,  over  a  hundred  miles 
distant,  in  that  illusive  phenomenon,  the  mirage, 
as  plainly  as  when  within  a  few  miles  of  it. 

Speaking  of  this  deceptive  manifestation  of 
one  natural  law,  I  am  led  to  wonder  why,  on 
the  trip  of  1906,  I  have  seen  nothing  of  those 
sheets  of  water  so  real  as  to  be  almost  within  our 
grasp  yet  never  reached,  those  hills  and  valleys 
we  never  traversed,  beautiful  pictures  on  the 
horizon  and  sometimes  above,  while  traversing 
the  valley  in  1852;  all  gone,  perhaps  to  be  seen 
no  more,  as  climatic  changes  come  to  destroy  the 
conditions  that  caused  them.  Perhaps  this  may 
in  part  be  caused  by  the  added  humidity  of  the 
atmosphere,  or  it  may  be  also  in  part  because  of 
the  numerous  groves  of  timber  that  now  adorn 
the  landscape.  Whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  re- 
mains that  in  the  year  of  1852  the  mirage  was  of 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TEAIL         169 

common  occurrence  and  now,  if  seen  at  all,  is 
rare. 

The  origin  of  thie  name  of  Scottsbluff  is  not 
definitely  known,  but  as  tradition  runs,  "a  trader 
named  Scott,  while  returning  to  the  states,  was 
robbed  and  stripped  by  the  Indir  ns.  He  crawled 
to  these  bluft's  and  there  famished,  and  his  bones 
were  afterwards  found  and  buried,"  these  quoted 
words  having  been  written  by  a  passing  emigrant 
on  the  spot,  June  11,  1852.  As  I  passed,  stories 
were  told  me  of  same  import  but  shifting  the 
time  to  1866. 

THE  DEAD  OF  THE  PLAINS. 

From  the  "Blult's''  we  drove  as  direct  as  pos- 
sible to  that  historic  grave,  two  miles  out  from 
the  town  and  on  the  railroad  right  of  way,  of 
Mrs.  Rebecca  Winters,  who  died  August  15,  1852, 
nearly  six  weeks  after  I  had  passed  over  the 
ground.  But  for  the  handiwork  of  some  un- 
known friend  or  relative,  this  grave,  like  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  others  who  fell  by  the 
wayside  in  those  strenuous  days,  this  grave  would 
have  passed  out  of  sight  and  mind  and  nestled 
in  solitude  and  unknown  for  all  ages  to  come. 
As  far  back  as  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabi- 


170  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

tant  runs  a  half  sunken  wagon  tire  bore  this 
simple  inscription,  "Rebecca  Winters,  aged  50 
years."  The  hoofs  of  stock  trampled  the  sunken 
grave  and  trod  it  into  dust,  but  the  arch  of  the 
tire  remained  to  defy  the  strength  of  thoughtless 
hands  who  would  have  removed  it,  and  of  the 
ravages  of  time  that  seemed  not  to  have  affected 
it.  Finally,  in  "the  lapse  of  time,"  that  usually 
non-respecter  of  persons — ^the  railroad  survey — 
and  afterward  the  rails  came  along  and  would 
have  run  the  track  over  the  lonely  grave  but  for 
the  tender  care  of  the  man  who  wielded  the  com- 
pass and  changed  the  line,  that  the  resting  place 
of  the  pioneer  should  not  be  disturbed,  followed 
by  the  noble  impulse  of  him  who  wielded  the 
power  of  control  of  the  "soulless"  corporation, 
and  the  grave  was  protected  and  enclosed.  Then 
came  the  press  correspondent  and  the  press  to 
herald  to  the  world  the  pathos  of  the  lone  grave, 
to  in  time  reach  the  eyes  and  to  touch  the  hearts 
of  the  descendants  of  the  dead,  who  had  almost 
passed  out  of  memory  and  to  quicken  the  interest 
in  the  memory  of  one  once  dear  to  them,  till  in 
time  there  arose  a  beautiful  monument  lovingly 
inscribed,  just  one  hundred  years  after  the  birth 
of  the  inmate  of  the  CTave. 


THE  OLD   OREGON   TRAIL  171 

As  I  looked  upon  this  grave,  now  surrounded 
by  green  lields  and  happy  homes,  my  mind  ran 
back  to  the  time  it  was  first  occupied  in  the  des- 
ert, as  all  believed  the  country  through  which  we 
were  passing  to  be,  and  of  the  awful  calamity  that 
overtook  so  many  to  carry  them  to  their  untimely 
and  unknown  graves.  The  ravages  of  cholera 
had  carried  off  thousands.  One  family  of  seven 
a  little  further  down  the  Platte  lie  all  in  one 
grave;  forty-one  persons  of  one  train  dead  in  one 
day  and  two  nights  tells  but  part  of  the  dreadful 
story.  The  count  of  fifty-three  freshly  made 
graves  in  one  camp  ground  left  a  vivid  impress 
upon  my  mind  that  has  never  been  effaced,  but 
where  now  are  those  graves?  They  are  now  ir- 
revocably lost.  I  can  recall  to  mind  one  point 
where  seventy  were  buried  in  one  little  group, 
not  one  of  the  graves  now  to  be  seen — ^trampled 
out  of  sight  by  the  hoofs  of  the  millions  of  stock 
later  passing  over  the  Trail.  Bearing  this  in 
mind,  how  precious  this  the  memory  of  even  one 
grave  rescued  from  oblivion,  and  how  precious 
will  become  the  memory  of  the  deeds  of  those 
who  have  so  freely  dedicated  their  part  to  re- 
freshen the  memory  of  the  past  and  to  honor 
those  sturdy  pioneers  who  survived,  as  well  as 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  173 

the  dead,  by  erecting  those  monuments  that  now 
line  the  Trail  for  nearly  two  thousand  miles.  To 
these,  one  and  all,  I  bow  my  head  in  grateful 
memory  of  their  aid  in  this  work  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  pioneers  and  especially  the 
3,000  school  children  who  have  each  contributed 
their  mite  that  the  memory  of  the  dead  pioneers 
might  remain  fresh  in  their  minds  and  the  minds 
of  generations  to  follow. 

A  drive  of  seventeen  miles  brought  us  to  the 
town  of  Bayard,  1,338  miles  on  the  way  from  The 
Dalles,  Oregon,  where  our  continuous  drive 
began. 

CHIMNEY  ROCK. 

Chimney  Rock  is  six  miles  southwesterly  in 
full  view,  a  curious  freak  of  nature  we  all  re- 
member while  passing  in  '52. 

The  base  reminds  one  of  an  umbrella  standing 
on  the  ground,  coyering  perhaps  twelve  acres  and 
running,  cone-shaped,  200  feet  to  the  base  of  the 
spire  resting  upon  it.  The  spire  (chimney) 
points  to  the  heavens,  which  would  entitle  the 
pile  to  a  more  appropriate  name,  as  like  a  church 
spire  (see  illustration),  tall  and  slim,  the 
wonder  of  all — how  it  comes  the  hand  of  time 
has  not  leveled  it  long  ago  and  mingled  its  crum- 


174  THE   OX  TEAM   OR 

bling  substance  with  that  lying  at  its  base.  The 
whole  pile,  like  that  at  Scottsbluff  and  Court 
House  Rock  further  down,  is  a  sort  of  soft  sand- 
stone, or  cement  and  clay,  gradually  crumbling 
away  and  destined  to  be  leveled  to  the  earth  in 
centuries  to  come. 

A  local  story  runs  that  an  army  officer  trained 
artillery  on  this  spire,  shot  off  about  thirty  feet 
of  the  top,  and  was  afterwards  court-martialed 
and  discharged  in  disgrace  from  the  army;  but 
I  could  get  no  definite  information,  though  re- 
peated again  and  again.  It  would  seem  incred- 
ible that  an  intelligent  man,  such  as  an  army 
officer,  would  do  such  an  act,  and  if  he  did  he 
deserved  severe  condemnation  and  punishment. 

I  noticed  that  at  Soda  Springs  the  hand  of  the 
vandal  had  been  at  work,  and  that  interesting 
phenomenon,  the  Steamboat  Spring,  the  wonder- 
ment of  all  in  1852,  with  its  intermittent  spout- 
ing, had  been  tampered  with  and  ceased  to  act. 
It  would  seem  the  degenerates  were  not  all  dead 
yet. 

NORTH  PLATTE,  NEBRASKA. 

At  North  Platte  the  ladies  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 
appointed  a  committee  to  undertake  to  erect  a 
monument,  the  business  men  all  refusing  to  give 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  175 

up  any  time.  However,  W.  C.  Ritner,  a  respected 
citizen  of  North  Platte,  offered  to  donate  a  hand- 
some monument  of  cement  base,  marble  cap, 
stone  and  cement  column,  five  and  a  half  feet 
high,  which  will  be  accepted  by  the  ladies  and 
erected  in  a  suitable  place. 


176  THB  OX  TEAM   OB 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Obituary  Notice. 

DEATH  OF  TWIST. 

^(/^LD  Oregon  Trail  Monument  Expedition, 
W  Brady  Island,  Neb.,  Aug.  9,  1906,  Camp 
No.  120,  odometer  1,536%.  Yesterday  morning 
Twist  ate  his  grain  as  usual  and  showed  no  signs 
of  sickness  until  we  were  on  the  road  two  or  three 
miles,  when  he  began  to  put  his  tongue  out  and 
his  breathing  became  heavy.  But  he  leaned  on 
the  yoke  heavier  than  usual  and  seemed  deter- 
mined to  pull  the  whole  load.  I  finally  stopped, 
put  him  on  the  off  side,  gave  him  the  long  end  of 
the  yoke  and  tied  his  head  back  with  the  halter 
strap  to  the  chain,  but  to  no  purpose,  for  he 
pulled  by  the  head  vei*y  heavy.  I  finally  unyoked, 
gave  him  a  quart  of  lard,  a  gill  of  vinegar,  and  a 
handful  of  sugar,  but  all  to  no  purpose,  for  he 
soon  fell  down  and  in  two  hours  was  dead." 

Such  is  the  record  in  my  journal  telling  of  the 
death  of  this  noble  animal,  who  I  think  died  from 
eating  some  poisonous  plant. 

"When  we  started  from  Camp  No.  1,  January 
29,  Puyallup,  Washington,  Twist  weighed  1,470 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         177 

pounds.  After  we  had  crossed  two  ranges  of 
mountains,  had  wallowed  in  the  snows  of  the 
Blue  mountains,  followed  the  tortuous  rocky 
canyons  of  Burnt  river,  up  the  deep  sand  of  the 
Snake,  this  ox  had  gained  in  weight  137  pounds, 
and  weighed  1,607  pounds  while  laboring  under 
the  short  end  of  the  yoke  that  gave  him  fifty-five 
per  cent  of  the  draft  and  an  increased  burden  he 
would  assume  by  keeping  his  end  of  the  yoke  a 
little  ahead,  no  matter  how  much  the  mate  might 
be  urged  to  keep  up. 

"There  are  striking  individualities  in  animals 
as  well  as  in  men,  and  I  had  liked  to  have  said 
virtues  as  well;  and  why  not?  If  an  animal  al- 
ways does  his  duty;  is  faithful  to  your  interest; 
industrious — why  not  call  it  by  the  right  name, 
even  if  he  was  'nothing  but  an  ox?' 

"We  are  wont  to  extol  the  virtue  of  the  dead 
and  to  forget  their  shortcomings,  but  here  a  plain 
statement  of  facts  will  suffice  to  revive  the  mem- 
ories of  the  almost  forgotten  past  of  a  type  so 
dear  to  the  pioneers  who  struggled  across  Plains 
and  over  mountains  in  the  long  ago. 

"To  understand  the  achievements  of  this  ox  it 
is  necessary  to  state  the  burden  he  carried.  The 
wagon  weighed  1,430  pounds,  is  a  wooden  axle 


178  THE  OX   TEAM   OB 

and  wide  track  with  an  average  load  of  800 
pounds.  He  had,  with  an  unbroken  four-year- 
old  steer, — a  natural-born  shirk — with  the  short 
end  of  the  yoke  before  mentioned,  hauled  this 
wagon  1,776  miles  and  was  in  better  working 
trim  when  he  died  than  when  the  trip  began. 
And  yet,  am  I  sure  that  at  some  points  I  did  not 
abuse  him?  What  about  coming  up  out  of  Little 
Canyon  over,  or  rather  up  the  steep  rocky  steps 
of  stones  like  veritable  stairs,  when  I  used  the 
goad,  and  he  pulled  a  shoe  oft"  and  his  feet  from 
under  him?  Was  I  merciful  then  or  did  I  exact 
more  than  I  ought?  I  can  see  him  yet  in  my 
mind,  while  on  his  knees  holding  the  wagon  from 
rolling  back  into  the  canyon  till  the  wheel  could 
be  blocked  and  the  brakes  set.  Then  when  bid 
to  start  the  load,  he  did  not  flinch.  He  was  the 
best  ox  I  ever  saw,  without  exception,  and  his 
loss  has  nearly  broken  up  the  expedition,  and  it 
is  one  case  where  his  like  can  not  be  replaced. 
He  has  had  a  decent  burial,  and  a  head-board 
will  mark  his  grave  and  recite  his  achievements 
in  the  valuable  aid  rendered  in  this  expedition 
to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  old  Oregon  Trail 
and  for  which  he  has  given  up  his  life." 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  179 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Continued. 

WHAT  shall  I  do?  Abandon  the  work?  No. 
But  1  can  not  go  on  with  one  ox  and  can 
not  in  all  this  country  find  another^  and  I  can 
not  lay  here.  And  so  a  horse  team  was  hired  to 
take  us  to  the  next  town,  Gothenburg — thirteen 
miles  distant,  and  the  lone  ox  led  behind  the 
wagon. 

GOTHENBURG,  NEBRASKA. 

"Gothenburg,  Nebraska,  August  10,  1906, 
Camp  No.  121,  odometer  1,549.  The  people  here 
resolved  to  erect  a  monument,  appointed  a  com- 
mittee, and  some  fifteen  dollars  contribution  was 
secured. 

LEXINGTON. 

Again  hired  a  horse  team  to  haul  the  wagon 
to  Lexington.  At  Lexington  I  thought  to  re- 
pair the  loss  of  the  ox  by  buying  a  pair  of  heavy 
cows  and  breaking  them  into  work,  and  so 
purchased  two  out  of  a  band  of  200  cattle  near 


180 


THE   OX   TEAM   OE 


by.  *Why,  yes,  of  course  they  will  work,'  I  said, 
wheD  a  bystander  had  asked  the  question.  ^Why, 
I  have  seen  whole  teams  of  cows  on  the  Plains  in 
'52,  and  they  would  trip  along  so  merrily  one 


BREAKING   THE   COWS. 


would  be  tempted  to  turn  the  oxen  out  and  get 
COW'S.  Yes,  we  will  soon  have  a  team/  I  said, 
*only  we  can't  go  very  far  in  a  day  with  a  raw 
team,  especially  in  this  hot  weather.'  But  one 
ot  ihe  cows  would  n't  go  at  all ;  we  could  not  lead 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  181 

or  drive  her.  Put  her  in  the  yoke  and  she  would 
stand  stock  still  just  like  a  stubborn  mule.  Hitch 
the  yoke  by  a  strong  rope  behind  the  wagon  with 
a  horse  team  to  pull,  she  would  brace  her  feet 
and  actually  slide  along,  but  would  n't  lift  a  foot. 
I  never  saw  such  a  brute  before,  and  hope  I  never 
will  again.  I  have  byoken  wild,  fighting,  kick- 
ing steers  to  the  yoke  and  enjoyed  the  sport,  but 
from  a  sullen  tame  cow  deliver  me. 

"Won't  you  take  her  back  and  give  me  an- 
other?" I  asked.  "Yes,  I  will  give  you  that  red 
cow  (one  I  had  rejected  as  unfit),  but  not  one  of 
the  others."  "Then  what  is  this  cow  worth  to 
you?"  Back  came  the  response,  "Thirty  dol- 
lars," and  so  I  dropped  ten  dollars  (having  paid 
him  forty),  lost  the  better  part  of  a  day,  expe- 
rienced a  gof7d  deal  of  vexation,  and  came  away 
with  the  exclamation,  "Oh,  if  I  could  but  have 
Twist  back  again/' 

The  fact  gradually  dawned  upon  me  the  loss 
of  that  fine  ox  was  almost  irreparable.  I  could 
not  get  track  of  an  ox  anywhere  nor  of  even  a 
steer  large  enough  to  mate  the  Dave  ox,  the  one 
I  had  left.  Besides,  Dave  always  was  a  fool.  I 
could  scarcely  teach  him  anything.  He  did  learn 
to  haw,  by  the  word  when  on  the  off  side,  but 


182  THE   OX   TEAM   OE 

would  n't  mind  the  word  a  bit  it'  on  the  near  side. 
Then  he  would  hold  his  head  way  up  while  in  the 
yoke  as  if  he  disdained  to  work,  and  poke  his 
tongue  out  at  the  least  bit  of  warm  weather  or 
seJious  work.  Then  he  did  n't  have  the  stamina 
of  Twist.  Although  given  the  long  end  of  the 
yoke,  so  that  Twist  would -pull  full  fifty -five  per 
cent  of  the  load,  yet  he  would  always  lag  behind. 
Here  was  a  case  where  the  individuality  of  the 
ox  was  as  marked  as  ever  between  man  and  man. 
Twist  would  watch  my  every  motion  and  mind 
by  the  wave  of  the  hand,  but  Dave  never  minded 
anything  except  to  shirk  hard  work ;  while  Twist 
always  seemed  to  love  his  work  and  would  go 
freely  all  day.  And  so  it  was  brought  home  to 
me  more  forcibly  than  ever  that  in  the  loss  of 
the  Twist  ox  I  had  almost  lost  the  whole  team. 

Now  if  this  had  occurred  in  1852  the  loss  could 
have  been  easily  remedied,  where  there  were  so 
many  "broke''  cattle  and  where  there  were  al- 
ways several  yoke  to  the  wagon.  So  when  I  drove 
out  with  a  hired  horse  team  that  day  with  the 
Dave  ox  tagging  on  behind  and  sometimes  pull- 
ing on  his  halter,  and  an  unbroken  cow,  it  may 
easily  be  guessed  the  pride  of  anticipated  success 
went  out  of  me  and  a  feeling  almost  akin  to 


THE  OLD  OBEGON  TRAIL         1S8 

despair  seized  upon  me.  Here  I  had  two  yokes, 
one  a  heavy  ox  yoke  and  the  other  a  light  cow's 
yoke,  but  the  cow,  I  thought,  could  not  be  worked 
alongside  the  ox  in  the  ox  yoke,  nor  the  ox  with 
the  cow  in  the  cow  yoke,  and  so  there  I  was  with- 
out a  team  but  with  a  double  encumbrance. 

Yes,  the  ox  has  passed ;  has  had  his  day,  for  in 
all  this  state  I  have  been  unable  to  find  even  one 
yoke.  So  I  trudged  along,  sometimes  in  the 
wagon  and  sometimes  behind  the  led  cattle,  won- 
dering in  my  mind  whether  or  no  I  had  been  fool- 
ish to  undertake  this  expedition  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  old  Oregon  Trail.  Had  I  not 
been  rebuffed  by  a  number  of  business  men  push- 
ing the  subject  aside  with,  "I  have  no  time  to 
look  into  it?"  Had  n't  I  been  compelled  to  pass 
several  towns  where  even  three  persons  could  not 
be  found  to  act  on  the  committee?  And  then 
there  was  the  experience  of  the  constant  suspi- 
cion and  watch  to  see  if  some  graft  could  not  be 
discovered;  some  lurking  speculation.  All  this 
could  be  borne  in  patience,  but  when  coupled 
with  it  came  the  virtual  loss  of  the  team,  small 
wonder  if  my  spirits  went  down  below  a  normal 
condition. 


184  THB  OX   TEAM  OU 

But  then  came  the  compensatory  thought  as 
to  what  had  been  accomplished;  how  three  states 
had  responded  cordially  and  a  fourth  as  well, 
considering  the  sparse  population.  How  could 
I  account  for  the  difference  in  the  reception?  It 
was  the  press.  In  the  first  place  the  newspapers 
took  up  the  work  in  advance  of  my  coming,  while 
in  the  latter  case  the  notices  and  commendation 
followed  my  presence  in  a  town.  And  so  I  quer- 
ied in  my  mind  as  we  trudged  along, — after  all, 
I  am  sowing  the  seed  that  will  bring  the  harvest 
later.  Then  my  mind  would  run  back  along  the 
line  of  over  1,500  miles,  where  stand  nineteen 
sentinels,  mostly  granite,  to  proclaim  for  the  cen- 
turies to  come  that  the  hand  of  communities  had 
been  at  work  and  planted  these  shafts  that  the 
memory  of  the  dead  pioneers  might  live;  where 
a  dozen  boulders,  including  the  great  Independ- 
ence Rock,  also  bear  this  testimony,  and  where  a 
hundred  wooden  posts  mark  the  Trail  where 
stone  was  unobtainable;  the  cordial  reception  in 
so  many  places;  to  the  outpourings  of  contribu- 
tions of  3,000  school  children ;  to  the  liberal  hand 
of  the  people  that  built  these  monuments ;  to  the 
more  than  20,000  people  attending  the  dedication 
ceremonies.    And  while  I  trudged  and  thought  I 


THE  OLD  OUEGON  TRAIL  185 

forgot  all  about  Twist,  the  recalcitrant  cow,  the 

dilemma  that  confronted  me,  to  awake  from  my 
reverie  in  a  more  cheerful  mood.  "Do  the  best 
you  can,"  I  said  almost  in  an  audible  tone,  "and 
be  not  cast  down,"  and  my  spirits  rose  almost  to 
the  point  of  exultation. 


186  THE   OX  TEAM  OR 


CHAPTP]R  XXII. 

The  Ox  Team  Monument  Expedition 
Concluded. 

KEARNEY,  NEBRASKA. 

AT  THAT  beautiful  city  of  Kearney  we  were 
accorded  a  fine  camping  place  in  the  center 
of  the  town  under  the  spreading  boughs  of  the 
shade  trees  that  line  the  streets,  and  a  nice  green, 
fresh-cut  sward  upon  which  to  pitch  our  tents. 
The  people  came  in  great  numbers  to  visit  the 
camp  and  express  their  approval  as  to  the  objects 
of  the  trip.  I  said,  "Here,  we  will  surely  get  a 
splendid  monument" ;  but  when  I  came  to  consult 
with  the  business  men  not  one  could  be  found  to 
give  up  any  time  to  the  work,  though  many 
seemed  interested.  The  president  of  the  com- 
mercial club  even  refused  to  call  a  meeting  of 
the  club  to  consider  the  subject,  because  he  said 
he  had  no  time  to  attend  the  meeting  and  thought 
most  of  the  members  would  be  the  same.  [  did 
not  take  it  this  man  was  opposed  to  the  proposed 
work,  but  honestly  felt  there  were  more  impor- 
tant matters  pressing  upon  the  time  of  business 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  187 

men,  and  said  the  subject  could  be  taken  up  at 
their  regular  meeting  in  the  near  future.  As  I 
left  this  man's  office,  who,  I  doubted  not,  had 
spoken  the  truth,  I  wondered  to  myself  if  these 
busy  men  would  ever  find  time  to  die.  How  did 
they  find  time  to  eat?  or  to  sleep?  and  I  queried, 
Is  a  business  man's  life  worth  the  living  if  all 
his  wakeful  moments  are  absorbed  in  grasping 
for  gains?  But  I  am  admonished  that  this  query 
must  be  answered  each  for  himself,  and  I  reluc- 
tantly came  away  from  Kearney  without  accom- 
plishing the  object  of  my  visit,  and  wondering 
whether  my  mission  was  ended  and  results 
finished. 

The  reader  will  readily  see  that  I  would  be 
the  more  willing  listener  to  such  an  inner  sug- 
gestion, in  view  of  my  crippled  condition  to  carry 
on  the  work.  And  might  not  that  condition  have 
a  bearing  to  bring  about  such  results?  No.  For 
the  j)eople  seemed  to  be  greatly  interested  and 
sympathetic.  The  press  was  particularly  kind 
in  their  notices,  commending  the  work,  but  it 
takes  time  to  arouse  the  business  men  to  action, 
as  one  remarked  to  me,  "You  can't  hurry  us  to 
do  anything;  we  are  not  that  kind  of  a  set." 
This  was  said  in  a  tone  bordering  on  the  offen- 
sive, though  perhaps  expressing  only  a  truth. 


188  THE   OX   TEAM   OB 

GRAND  ISLAND. 

I  did  not,  however,  feel  willing  to  give  up  the 
work  after  having  accomplished  so  much  on  the 
1,700  miles  traveled,  and  with  less  than  200 
miles  ahead  of  me,  and  so  I  said,  "I  will  try 
again  at  Grand  Island,"  the  next  place  where 
there  was  a  center  of  population,  that  an  effort 
would  probably  succeed.  Here  I  soon  found 
there  was  a  decided  public  sentiment  to  take 
action,  but  at  a  later  date — next  year — ^jointly 
to  honor  the  local  pioneers  upon  the  occasion  of 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  settlement  around 
and  about  the  city,  and  so,  this  dividing  the  at- 
tention of  the  people,  it  was  not  thought  best  to 
undertake  the  work  now,  and  again  I  bordered 
on  the  slough  of  despondency. 

I  could  not  repeat  the  famous  words,  I  would 
"fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it  takes  all  summer," 
for  here  it  is  the  30th  of  August,  and  in  one  day 
more  summer  will  be  gone.  Neither  could  I  see 
how  to  accomplish  more  than  prepare  the  way, 
and  that  now  the  press  is  doing,  and  sowing  seed 
upon  kindly  ground  that  will  in  the  future 
doubtless  bring  forth  abundant  harvest. 

Gradually  the  fact  became  uppermost  in  my 
mind  that  1  was  powerless  to  move;  that  my 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  189 

team  was  gone.  No  response  came  to  the  ex- 
tensive advertisements  for  an  ox  or  a  yoke  of 
oxen,  showing  clearly  there  were  none  in  the 
country,  and  that  the  only  way  to  repair  the 
damage  was  to  get  unbroken  steers  or  cows  and 
break  them  in.  This  could  not  be  done  in  hot 
weather,  or  at  least  cattle  unused  to  work  could 
not  go  under  the  yoke  and  render  effective  service 
without  seasoning,  and  so,  for  the  time  being,  the 
work  on  the  Trail  was  suspended. 

As  I  write  in  this  beautiful  grove  of  the  "old 
court  house  grounds,"  in  the  heart  of  this  embryo 
city  of  Grand  Island,  with  its  stately  rows  of 
shade  trees,  its  modest,  elegant  homes,  the  bustle 
and  stir  on  its  business  streets  with  the  constant 
passing  of  trains,  shrieking  of  whistles,  ringing 
of  bells,  the  reminder  of  a  great  change  in  con- 
ditions, my  mind  reverts  back  to  that  June  day 
of  1852  when  I  passed  over  the  ground  near 
where  the  city  stands.  Vast  herds  of  buffalo  then 
grazed  on  the  hills  or  leisurely  crossed  our  track 
and  at  times  obstructed  our  way.  Flocks  of  an- 
telope frisked  on  the  outskirts  or  watched  from 
vantage  points.  The  prairie  dogs  reared  their 
heads  in  comical  attitude,  burrowing,  it  was  said, 
with  the  rattlesnake  and  the  badger. 


190  THE  OX   TEAM   OB 

But  now  these  dog  colonies  are  gone;  the  buf- 
falo are  gone;  the  antelope  have  disappeared;  as 
likewise  the  Indian.  Now  all  is  changed.  In- 
stead of  the  parched  plain  we  saw  in  1852  with 
its  fierce  clouds  of  dust  rolling  up  the  valley  and 
engulfing  whole  trains  till  not  a  vestige  of  them 
could  be  seen,  we  see  the  landscape  of  smiling, 
fruitful  fields,  of  contented  homes,  of  inviting 
clumps  of  trees  dotting  the  landscape.  The  hand 
of  man  has  changed  what  we  looked  upon  as  a 
barren  plain  to  that  of  a  fruitful  land.  Where 
then  there  were  only  stretches  of  buffalo  grass 
now  waving  fields  of  grain  and  great  fields  of 
corn  send  forth  abundant  harvests.  Yes,  we  may 
again  exclaiui,  '^What  wondrous  changes  time  has 
wrought  V 

At  Grand  Island  I  shipped  to  Fremont,  Neb.,  to 
head  the  procession  celebrating  the  semi-centennial  of 
founding  that  city,  working  the  ox  and  cow  together; 
thence  to  Lincoln,  where  the  first  edition  of  this  volume 
was  printed,  all  the  while  searching  for  an  ox  or  a  steer 
large  enough  to  mate  the  Dave  ox,  but  without  avail. 
Finally,  after  looking  over  a  thousand  herd  of  cattle  in 
the  stock  yards  at  Omaha,  a  four-year-old  steer  was 
found  and  broken  in  on  the  way  to  Indianapolis,  where 
I  arrived  January  5,  1907,  eleven  months  and  seven 
days  from  date  of  departure  from  my  home  at  Puyallup, 
2,600  miles  distant. 


THB  OLD  OEEGON  TRAIL  191 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  CHAPTEE  foe  ClIlLDEEN. 

I  WILL  take  you  into  my  confidence,  little 
ones,  and  tell  you  a  few  stories,  but  they 
shall  be  true  and  about  my  trips  across  the 
Plains  with  ox  teams. 

Some  little  ones  have  innocently  asked  if  these 
oxen  were  cows.  No,  they  are  steers  trained  to 
work,  and  when  they  have  been  taught  to  work 
they  are  called  oxen.  The  names  of  my  team  are 
Twist  and  Dave,  and  they  are  big  oxen  and  the 
two  weigh  over  a  ton  and  a  half. 

I  have  these  shod  with  iron  shoes,  nailed  on 
just  like  with  a  horse,  but  oxen  must  have  two 
shoes  on  one  foot  so  their  split  hoofs  can  spread. 

I  worked  cows  in  my  team  when  I  crossed  the 
Plains  in  1852,  but  we  still  called  them  cows 
after  they  were  taught  to  work.  We  used  to 
milk  cows  on  the  trip  in  1852,  and  put  the  sur- 
plus milk  in  a  can  in  the  wagon,  and  at  night 
get  a  nice  lump  of  fresh  butter.  The  jostling  of 
the  wagon  would  churn  the  milk. 

13 


Hi  tHB  ox  TEAM   Oft 

THE  ANTELOPES. 
One  day  on  this  trip  while  west  of  the  Rocky 
mountains,  in  the  state  of  Wyoming,  two  an- 
telopes crossed  the  road  about  a  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  us,  a  buck  and  a  doe.  The  doe  soon  dis- 
appeared, but  the  buck  came  back  to  near  the 
road  and  stood  gazing  at  us  in  wonderment  as  if 
to  say,  "Who  the  mischief  are  you?" 

Our  dog  Jim  soon  scented  him  and  away  they 
went  up  the  mountain  side  until  Jim  got  tired 
and  came  back  to  the  wagon,  and  then  the  an- 
telope stopped  on  a  little  eminence  on  the  moun- 
tain and  we  could  see  him  plainly  against  a  back- 
ground of  sky  for  a  long  distance. 

^Another  time  we  actually  got  near  enough  to 
get  a  snap  shot  with  our  kodaks  at  two  antelopes, 
but  they  were  too  far  off  to  make  good  pictures. 
Our  road  led  us  obliquely  up  a  gentle  hill  grad- 
ually approaching  nearer  the  antelope.  I  no- 
ticed he  would  for  awhile  come  toward  us  and 
then  turn  around  and  look  the  other  way  for 
awhile.  After  awhile  we  saw  what  at  first  we 
took  to  be  a  kid,  or  young  antelope,  but  soon 
after  discovered  it  was  a  coyote  wolf  prowling  on 
the  track  of  the  antelope,  and  he  was  watching 
both  of  ua.     Just  then  after  I  had  stopped  the 


THl  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  193 

wagon,  six  great,  big  fat  sage  hens  were  to  be 
seen  feeding  not  more  than  twice  the  length  of 
the  wagon  away,  just  like  I  had  seen  them  in 
1852. 

Animals  and  birds,  you  know,  are  not  afraid 
of  white  people  at  first  sight ;  it 's  only  after  they 
learn  of  their  danger  they  become  shy,  after  we 
h'ave  wantonly  mistreated  them  that  they  mis- 
trust us.  This  was  way  out  on  the  Kocky  moun- 
tains where  scarcely  any  one  lives  yet,  and  where 
the  whole  face  of  the  country  is  nearly  a  mile  and 
a  half  above  sea  level. 

QUARREL  BETWEEN  JIM  AND  DAVE. 

Animals  have  their  likes  and  dislikes  same  as 
men  and  boys,  and  perhaps  girls,  too.  Early  in 
the  trip  our  dog  Jim  and  the  ox  Dave  became 
mortal  enemies.  When  1  walked  and  drove,  Jim 
would  trot  along  beside  me  or  at  least  would  stay 
on  that  side  of  the  wagon,  and  Twist,  being  on 
the  nigh  side,  paid  but  little  attention  to  him, 
but  let  me  get  into  the  wagon  to  drive  and  Jim 
would  go  over  on  the  side  next  to  Dave,  and  then 
the  quarrel  would  begin.  Once  Dave  caught  him 
under  the  ribs  with  his  right  horn,  which  you  see 
by  the  picture  stands  straight  out  nearly,  and 


104 


THE   OX    TEAM    OB 


tossed  him  over  some  sage  brush  near  by.  Some- 
times, if  the  yoke  prevented  him  from  getting  a 
chance  at  Jim  Avith  his  horn,  he  would  throw  out 
his  nose  and  snort,  just  like  a  horse  that  has  been 


ON  THE  BUIDG] 


running  at  play  and  stops  for  a  moment's  rest. 
But  Jim  would  manage  to  get  even  with  him. 
Sometimes  we  put  loose  hay  under  the  wagon  to 
keep  it  out  of  the  storm,  and  Jim  would  make  a 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         195 

bed  on  it,  and  woe  betide  Dave  if  he  undertook  to 
take  any  of  it.  I  saw  Jim  one  day  catch  Dave  by 
the  nose  and  draw  the  blood,  and  you  may  read- 
ily believe  the  war  was  renewed  with  greater 
rancor  than  ever.  This  war  was  kept  up  for 
more  than  a  thousand  miles  of  the  trip,  and  it  is 
only  recently  they  have  ceased  to  quarrel  vig- 
orously, but  they  are  not  yet  friends  to  this  day. 

JIM'S  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  WOLF. 

I  have  no  doubt  but  Jim  has  traveled  over 
6,000  miles  on  this  trip.  He  would  run  way 
ahead  of  the  wagon  and  then  come  back  on  the 
trot,  and  if  I  was  riding,  invariably  go  clear  back 
of  the  wagon  and  come  up  by  Dave,  as  it  might 
appear,  just  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him.  Then 
at  other  times  he  would  run  off  first  on  one  side 
of  the  wagon  and  then  again  the  other,  after 
birds,  jack  rabbits,  squirrels,  or  anything  in  the 
world  that  could  get  into  motion.  One  day  a 
coyote  wolf  crossed  the  road  just  a  few  rods  be- 
hind the  wagon,  and  Jim  took  after  him.  It 
looked  as  though  Jim  would  overtake  him,  and 
I  was  dubious  as  to  the  result  of  a  tussel  between 
them,  and  called  Jim  back.  No  sooner  had  he 
turned  than  the  wolf  turned,  too,  and  made  chase, 


19G  THE   OX   TEAM   01 

and  here  they  oome,  nip  and  tuck  as  to  who  conld 
run  the  fastest.  I  think  the  wolf  could,  but  he 
did  not  catch  up  until  they  got  so  near  the  wagon 
that  he  became  frightened  and  scampered  away 
up  the  slope  of  a  hill  near  by.  At  another  time 
a  young  wolf  came  and  Jim  played  with  him 
awhile,  but  by  and  by  the  little  fellow  snapped 
at  Jim  and  made  Jim  mad,  and  he  bounced  on 
him  and  gave  him  a  good  trouncing. 

When  the  weather  got  hot,  Jim,  before  we 
sheared  him,  would  get  very  warm,  and  when- 
ever the  wagon  stopped  he  would  dig  off  the  top 
earth  or  sand  that  was  hot  so  as  to  have  a  cool 
bed  to  lie  in,  but  he  was  always  ready  to  go  when 
the  wagon  started. 

ABOUT  PUGET  SOUND. 

Now,  little  ones,  I  expect  you  would  like  to 
know  something  about  life  on  Puget  Sound, 
where  I  have  lived  so  long.  Maybe  you  do  not 
know  what  kind  of  a  place  Puget  Sound  is  any- 
way, and  so  I  will  first  tell  you,  before  I  tell  yon 
about  conditions  there. 

Puget  Sound  is  really  an  arm  of  the  sea  that 
runs  inland  for  nearly  150  miles  and  ramifies 
into  channels,  around  islands  and  indentures  of 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  197 

bays  till  there  is,  by  actual  government  survey, 
more  than  1,600  miles  of  shore  line  washed  by 
the  tides  of  the  salt  waters  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
This  inland  sea,  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  is  in 
the  northwestern  part  of  the  great  state  of  Wash- 
ington, and  on  the  shores  of  the  Sound  are  a 
great  number  of  towns  and  some  cities,  where,  in 
the  aggregate,  more  than  300,000  people  now  live, 
but  where  only  a  few  hundred  were  there  when 
I  first  saw  it. 

And  now  as  to  conditions  of  early  life  I  will 
quote  from  my  book  "Pioneer  Keminiscences  of 
Puget  Sound,  The  Tragedy  of  Leschi,"  so  you 
may  know  a  little  of  my  life  out  in  that  far-off 
country  as  well  as  of  my  trips  out  and  back  with 
ox  teams  and  cows. 


19d  THB   OX  TEAM   OB 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Eably  Life  on  Pugbt  Sound. 

WILD  ANIMALS. 

^  ^  T  WILL  write  this  chapter  for  the  youngsi  .3, 
.  1      and  the  elderly  wise-heads  who  wear  specs 
may  turn  over  the  leaves  without  reading  it,  if 
they  choose. 

"Wild  animals  in  early  days  were  very  much 
more  plentiful  than  now,  particularly  deer  and 
black  bear.  The  black  bear  troubled  us  a  good 
deal  and  would  come  near  the  houses  and  kill 
orr  pigs;  but  it  did  not  take  many  years  to  t  "n 
them  out.  They  were  very  cowardly  and  would 
run  away  from  us  in  the  thick  brush,  except  when 
the  young  cubs  were  with  them,  and  then  we  had 
to  be  piore  careful. 

THE  COUGAR. 

"There  was  one  animal,  the  cougar,  we  felt 
might  be  dangerous,  but  I  never  saw  but  one  in 
the  woods.  Before  I  tell  you  about  it  I  will  re- 
late an  adventure  one  of  my  own  little  girls  had 
with  one  of  these  creatures  near  by  our  owa  home 
in  (he  Puyallup  valley. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  199 

"I  have  written  elsewhere  about  our  little  log 
cabin  schoolhouse,  but  have  not  told  how  our 
children  got  to  it.  From  our  house  to  the  school- 
house  the  trail  led  through  very  heavy  timber 
and  very  heavy  underbrush — so  dense  that  most 
all  the  way  one  could  not  see,  in  the  summer  time 
when  the  leaves  were  on,  as  far  as  across  the 
kitchen  of  the  house. 

*^One  day  little  Carrie,  now  an  elderly  lady  (I 
won't  say  how  old),  now  living  in  Seattle,  started 
to  go  to  school,  but  soon  came  running  back  out 
of  breath. 

"  *Mamma !  Mamma !  I  saw  a  great  big  cat 
sharpening  his  claws  on  a  great  big  tree,  just 
like  pussy  does,'  she  said  as  soon  as  she  could 
catch  her  breath.  Sure  enough,  upon  examina- 
tion, there  were  the  marks  as  high  up  on  the  tree 
as  I  could  reach.  It  must  have  been  a  big  one  to 
reach  up  the  tree  that  far.  But  the  incident  soon 
dropped  out  of  mind  and  the  children  went  to 
school  on  the  trail  just  the  same  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

"The  way  I  happened  to  see  the  cougar  was 
this:  Lew  McMillan  bought  161  cattle  and 
drove  them  from  Oregon  to  what  we  then 
used   to    call    Upper   White   river,   but   it   was 


200  THE  OX  TBAM  Oil 

the  present  site  of  Auburn.  He  had  to 
swim  his  cattle  over  all  the  riyerg,  and  his  horses, 
too,  and  then  at  the  last  day's  drive  brought  them 
on  the  divide  between  Stuck  river  and  the  Sound. 
The  cattle  were  all  very  tame  when  he  took  them 
into  the  White  river  valley,  for  they  were  tired 
and  hungry.  At  that  time  White  river  valley 
was  covered  with  brush  and  timber,  except  here 
and  there  a  small  prairie.  The  upper  part  of  the 
valley  was  grown  up  with  tall,  coarse  rushes  that 
remained  green  all  winter,  and  so  he  did  n't  have 
to  feed  his  cattle,  but  they  got  nice  and  fat  long 
before  spring.  We  bought  them  and  agreed  to 
take  twenty  head  at  a  time.  By  this  time  the 
cattle  were  nearly  as  wild  as  deer.  So  Lew  built 
a  very  strong  corral  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
near  where  Auburn  is  now,  and  then  made  a 
brush  fence  from  one  corner  down  river  way, 
which  made  it  a  sort  of  a  lane,  with  the  fence 
on  one  side  and  the  river  on  the  other,  and  grad- 
ually widened  out  as  he  got  further  from  the 
corral. 

"I  used  to  go  over  from  Steilacoom  and  stay 
all  night,  so  we  could  make  a  drive  into  the  cor- 
ral early,  but  this  time  I  was  belated  and  had  to 
camp  on  the  road,  so  that  we  did  not  get  an  early 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TEAIL         201 

start  for  the  next  day's  drive.  The  cattle  seemed 
unruly  that  day,  and  when  we  let  them  out  of 
the  corral  up  river  way,  they  scattered  and  we 
could  n't  do  anything  with  them.  The  upshot  of 
the  matter  was  that  I  had  to  go  home  without 
any  cattle.  We  had  worked  with  the  cattle  so 
long  that  it  was  very  late  before  I  got  started 
and  had  to  go  on  foot.  At  that  time  the  valley 
above  Auburn  near  the  Stuck  river  crossing  was 
filled  with  a  dense  forest  of  monster  fir  and  cedar 
trees,  and  a  good  deal  of  underbrush  besides. 
That  forest  was  so  dense  in  places  that  it  was 
difficult  to  see  the  road,  even  on  a  bright,  sun- 
shiny day,  while  on  a  cloudy  day  it  seemed  al- 
most like  night,  though  I  could  see  well  enough 
to  keep  on  the  crooked  trail  all  right. 

"Well,  just  before  I  got  to  Stuck  river  crossing 
I  came  to  a  turn  in  the  trail  where  it  crossed  the 
top  of  a  big  fir  that  had  been  turned  up  by  the 
roots  and  had  fallen  nearly  parallel  with  the 
trail.  The  big  roots  held  the  butt  of  the  tree  up 
from  the  ground,  and  I  think  the  tree  was  four 
feet  in  diameter  a  hundred  feet  from  the  butt, 
and  the  whole  body,  from  root  to  top,  was  eighty- 
four  steps  long,  or  about  two  hundred  amd  fifty 
feet.    I  have  seen  longer  trees  than  that,  though, 


202  THE    ox   TEAM   OB 

and  bigger  ones,  but  there  were  a  great  many 
like  this  one  standing  all  around  about  me. 

"I  did  n't  stop  to  step  it  then,  but  you  may  be 
sure  I  took  some  pretty  long  strides  about  that 
time.  Just  as  I  stepped  over  the  fallen  tree  near 
the  top  I  saw  something  move  on  the  big  body 
near  the  roots,  and  sure  enough  the  thing  was 
coming  right  toward  me.  In  an  instant  I  realized 
what  it  was.  It  was  a  tremendous,  great  big 
cougar.  He  was  very  pretty,  but  did  not  look 
very  nice  to  me.  I  had  just  had  a  letter  from  a 
man  living  near  the  Chehalis  telling  me  of  three 
lank,  lean  cougars  coming  into  his  clearing  where 
he  was  at  work,  and  when  he  started  to  go  to  his 
cabin  to  get  his  gun  the  brutes  started  to  follow 
him,  and  he  only  just  escaped  into  his  house,  with 
barely  time  to  slam  the  door  shut.  He  wrote 
that  his  dogs  had  gotten  them  on  the  run  by  the 
time  he  was  ready  with  his  gun,  and  he  finally 
killed  all  three  of  them.  He  found  they  were  lit- 
erally starving  and  had,  he  thought,  recently 
robbed  an  Indian  grave,  or  rather  an  Indian 
canoe  that  hung  in  the  trees  with  their  dead  in  it. 
That  18  the  way  the  Indians  used  to  dispose  of 
their  dead,  but  I  have  n't  time  to  tell  about  that 
now.     This  man  found  bits  of  cloth,  some  hair, 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TEAIL  203 

and  a  piece  of  bone  in  the  stomach  of  one  of  them, 
so  he  felt  sure  he  was  right  in  his  surmise,  and  I 
think  he  was,  too.  I  sent  this  man's  letter  to  the 
paper,  the  Olympia  Transcript,  and  it  was 
printed  at  the  time,  but  I  have  forgotten  his 
name. 

**Well,  I  did  n't  know  what  to  do.  I  had  no 
gun  with  me,  and  I  knew  perfectly  well  there 
was  no  use  to  run.  I  knew,  too,  that  I  could  not 
do  as  Mr.  Stocking  did,  grapple  with  it  and  kick 
it  to  death.  This  one  confronting  me  was  a  mon- 
strous big  one — at  least  it  looked  so  to  me.  I 
expect  it  looked  bigger  than  it  really  was.  Was 
I  scared,  did  you  say?  Did  you  ever  have  creep- 
ers run  up  your  back  and  right  to  the  roots  of 
your  hair,  and  nearly  to  the  top  of  your  head? 
Yes,  1 11  warrant  you  have,  though  a  good  many 
fellows  won't  acknowledge  it  and  say  it 's  only 
cowards  that  feel  that  way.  Maybe;  but,  any- 
way, I  do  n't  want  to  meet  wild  cougars  in  the 
timber. 

"Mr.  Stocking,  whom  I  spoke  about,  lived 
about  ten  miles  from  Olympia  at  Glasgow's  place. 
He  was  ^^'alking  on  the  prairie  and  had  a  stout 
young  dog  with  him,  and  came  suddenly  upon  a 
cougar  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  fence.    His  dog 


204  THB   OX   TEAM   01 

tackled  tke  brute  at  once,  but  was  no  match  for 
bim,  and  would  soon  have  been  killed  if  Stocking 
bad  not  interfered.    Mr.  Stocking  gathered  on  to 
a  big    lub  and  struck  tb«  cougar  one  heavy  blow 
over  the  back,  but  the  stick  broke  and  the  cougar 
left  the  dog  and  attacked  his  master.    And  so  it 
w  as  a  life  and  death  struggle.    Mr.  Stocking  was 
a  very  powerful  man.    It  waB  said  that  he  was 
double- jointed.     He  was  full  six  feet  high  and 
heavy  in  proportion.    He  was  a  typical  pioneer 
in  health,  strength,  and  power  of  endurance.    He 
said  he  felt  as  though  his  time  had  come,  but 
there  was  one  chance  in  a  thousand,  and  he  was 
going  to  take  that  chance.    As  soon  as  the  cougar 
let  go  of  the  dog  to  tackle  Stocking,  the  cup 
sneaked  off  to  let  his  master  light  it  out  alone. 
He  had  had  enough  fight  for  one  day.     As  the 
cougar  raised  on  his  hind  legs  Stocking  luckily 
grasped  him  by  the  throat  and  began  kicking  him 
in  the  stomach.    Stocking  said  he  thought  if  he 
could  get  one  good  kick  in  the  region  of  the  heart 
he  felt  that  he  might  settle  him.    I  guess,  boys, 
no  football  player  ever  kicked  as  hard  as  Stock- 
ing did  that  day.    The  difference  was  that>e  was 
literally  kicking  for  dear  life,  while  the  player 
kicks  only  for  fun.     All  this  happened  la  less 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         205 

time  than  it  takes  me  to  tell  it.  Meanwhile  the 
cougar  was  not  idle,  but  was  clawing  away  at 
Stocking's  arms  and  shoulders,  and  once  he  hit 
him  a  clip  on  the  nose.  The  dog  finally  returned 
to  the  strife  and  between  the  two  they  laid  Mr. 
Cougar  low  and  took  off  his  skin  the  next  day. 
Mr.  Stocking  took  it  to  Olympia,  where  it  was 
used  for  a  base  purpose.  It  was  stuffed  and  put 
into  a  saloon  and  kept  there  a  long  time  to  at- 
tract people  into  the  saloon. 

"Did  my  cougar  hurt  me,  did  you  say?  I 
had  n't  any  cougar  and  had  n't  lost  one,  and  if 
I  had  been  hurt  I  would  n't  have  been  here  to  tell 
you  this  story.  The  fun  of  it  was  that  the  cougar 
had  n't  yet  seen  me,  but  just  as  soon  as  he  did  he 
scampered  off  like  the  Old  Harry  himself  was 
after  him,  and  I  strode  off  down  the  trail  like  old 
Belzebub  was  after  me. 

"Now,  youngsters,  before  you  go  to  bed,  just 
bear  in  mind  there  is  no  danger  here  now  from 
wild  animals,  and  there  was  not  much  then,  for 
in  all  the  time  I  have  been  here,  now  over  fifty 
years,  I  have  known  of  but  two  persons  killed  by 
them. 

"And  now  I  will  tell  you  one  more  true  story 
and  then  quit  for  this  time.    Aunt  Abbie  Sumner 


206  THE   ox   TEAM   OR 

one  evening  heard  Gus  Johnson  hallowing  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  a  little  way  out  from  the  house. 
Her  father  said  Gus  was  just  driving  up  the 
cows,  but  Aunt  Abbie  said  she  never  knew  him 
to  make  such  a  noise  as  that  before,  and  went  out 
within  speaking  distance  and  where  she  could  see 
him  at  times  pounding  vigorously  on  a  tree  for 
awhile  and  then  turn  and  strike  out  toward  the 
brush  and  yell  so  loud  she  said  she  believed  he 
could  be  heard  for  more  than  a  mile  away.  She 
soon  saw  something  moving  in  the  brush.  It  was 
a  bear.  Gus  had  suddenly  come  upon  a  bear  and 
her  cubs  and  run  one  of  the  cubs  up  a  tree.  He 
pounded  on  the  tree  to  keep  it  there,  but  had  to 
turn  at  times  to  fight  the  bear  away  from  him. 
As  soon  as  he  could  find  time  to  speak  he  told 
her  to  go  to  the  house  and  bring  the  gun,  which 
she  did,  and  that  woman  went  right  up  to  the 
tree  and  handed  Gus  the  gun  while  the  bear  was 
near  by.  Gus  made  a  bad  shot  the  first  time  and 
wounded  the  bear,  but  the  next  time  killed  her. 
But  lo,  and  behold !  he  had  n't  any  more  bullets 
and  the  cub  was  still  up  the  tree.  So  away  went 
Aunt  Abbie  two  miles  to  a  neighbor  to  get  lead 
to  mold  some  bullets.  But  by  this  time  it  was 
dark,  and  Gus  stayed  all  night  at  the  butt  of  the 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         207 

tree  and  kept  a  fire  burning,  and  next  morning 
killed  the  cub.  So  he  got  the  hides  of  both  of 
them.  This  occurred  about  three  miles  east  of 
Bucoda,  and  both  of  the  parties  are  living  in 
sight  of  the  spot  where  the  adventure  took  place." 

THE  MORNING  SCHOOL. 

"And  now  I  will  write  another  story  for  the 
youngsters,  the  boys  and  girls,  and  the  old  folks 
may  skip  it  if  they  wish ;  but  I  am  going  to  relate 
true  stories. 

"Soon  after  the  Indian  war  we  moved  to  our 
donation  claim.  We  had  but  three  neighbors, 
the  nearest  nearly  two  miles  away,  and  two  of 
them  kept  bachelor's  hall  and  were  of  no  account 
for  schools.  Of  course,  we  could  not  see  any  of 
our  neighbors'  houses,  and  could  reach  but  one 
by  a  road  and  the  others  by  a  trail.  Under  such 
conditions  we  could  not  have  a  public  school.  I 
can  best  tell  about  our  morning  school  by  relat- 
ing an  incident  that  happened  a  few  months  after 
it  was  started. 

"One  day  one  of  our  farther-off  neighbors,  who 

lived  over  four  miles  away,  came  to  visit  us. 

Naturally,  the  children  flocked  around  him  to 

hear  his  stories  in  Scotch  brogue,  and  began  to 

U 


208  THE   ox   TEAM   OE 

ply  questions,  to  which  he  soon  responded  by 
asking  other  questions,  one  of  which  was  when 
they  expected  to  go  to  school. 

"'Why,  we  have  school  now,'  responded  a 
chorus  of  voices.    *We  have  school  every  day.' 

"  'And,  pray,  who  is  your  teacher,  and  where 
is  your  schoolhouse?'  came  the  prompt  inquiry. 

"  'Father  teaches  us  at  home  every  morning 
before  breakfast.  He  hears  the  lessons  then,  but 
mother  helps  us,  too.' 

"Peter  Smith,  the  neighbor  (9jad  one  of  the 
group  in  the  old  settlers'  meeting),  never  tires 
telling  the  story,  and  maybe  has  added  a  little 
as  memory  fails,  for  he  is  eighty-four  years  old 
now.* 

"  'Your  father  told  me  awhile  ago  that  you  had 
your  breakfast  at  six  o'clock.  What  time  do  you 
get  up?' 

"  'Why,  father  sets  the  clock  for  half -past  four, 
and  that  gives  us  an  hour  while  mother  gets 
breakfast,  you  know.' 

"You  boys  and  girls  who  read  this  chapter 
may  have  a  feeling  almost  akin  to  pity  for  those 


*  Smith  has  died  since  this  was  written.  He  was  on© 
of  the  most  respected  pioneers,  possessed  of  sterling  qual- 
ities of  manhood.  Like  Father  Kincaid,  h©  was  without 
enemies. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         209 

poor  pioneer  children  who  had  to  get  up  so  early, 
but  you  may  as  well  dismiss  such  thoughts  from 
your  minds,  for  they  were  happy  and  cheerful 
and  healthy,  worked  some  during  the  day,  besides 
studying  their  lessons,  but  they  went  to  bed  ear- 
lier than  some  boys  and  girls  do  these  days. 

"It  was  not  long  until  we  moved  to  the  Puyal- 
lup  valley,  where  there  were  more  neighbors — 
two  families  to  the  square  mile,  but  not  one  of 
them  in  sight,  because  the  timber  and  under- 
brush was  so  thick  we  could  scarcely  see  two 
rods  from  the  edge  of  our  clearing.  Now  we 
could  have  a  real  school;  but  first  I  will  tell 
about  the  schoolhouse. 

"Some  of  the  neighbors  took  their  axes  to  cut 
the  logs,  some  their  oxen  to  haul  them,  others 
their  saws  and  frows  to  make  the  clapboards  for 
the  roof,  while  again  others,  more  handy  with 
tools,  made  the  benches  out  of  split  logs,  or,  as 
we  called  them,  puncheons.  With  a  good  many 
willing  hands,  the  house  soon  received  the  finish- 
ing touches.  The  side  walls  were  scarcely  high 
enough  for  the  door,  and  one  was  cut  in  the  end 
and  a  door  hung  on  wooden  hinges  that  squeaked 
a  good  deal  when  the  door  was  opened  or  sfiut; 
but  the  children  did  not  mind  that.     The  ro^ 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  211 

answered  well  for  the  ceiling  overhead,  and  a 
log  cut  out  on  each  side  made  two  long,  narrow 
windows  for  light.  The  larger  children  sat  with 
their  faces  to  the  walls,  with  long  shelves  in  front 
of  them,  while  the  smaller  tots  sat  on  low  benches 
near  the  middle  of  the  room.  When  the  weather 
would  permit  the  teacher  left  the  door  open  to 
admit  more  light,  but  had  no  need  for  more  fresh 
air,  as  the  roof  was  quite  open  and  the  cracks 
between  the  logs  let  in  plenty. 

"Sometimes  we  had  a  lady  teacher,  and  then 
her  salary  was  smaller,  as  she  boarded  around. 
That  Tneant  some  discomfort  part  of  the  time, 
where  the  surroundings  were  not  pleasant. 

"Some  of  those  scholars  are  dead,  some  have 
wandered  to  parts  unknown,  while  those  that 
are  left  are  nearly  all  married  and  are  grand- 
fathers or  grandmothers,  but  all  living  remem- 
ber the  old  log  schoolhouse  with  affection.  This 
is  a  true  picture,  as  I  recollect,  of  the  early 
school  days  in  the  Puyallup  valley,  when,  as  the 
unknown  poet  has  said: 

'And  children  did  a  half  day's  work 
Before  tkey  went  to  school.' 


212  THE   OX   TEAM   OK 

"Not  quite  so  hard  as  that,  but  very  near  it,  as 
we  were  always  up  early  and  the  children  did  a 
lot  of  work  before  and  after  school  time. 

"When  Carrie  was  afterwards  sent  to  Portland 
to  the  high  school  she  took  her  place  in  the  class 
just  the  same  as  if  she  had  been  taught  in  a  grand 
brick  schoolhouse.  Where  there  is  a  will  there 
is  a  way.' 

"You  must  not  conclude  that  we  had  no  recrea- 
tion and  that  we  were  a  sorrowful  set  devoid  of 
enjoyment,  for  there  never  was  a  happier  lot  of 
people  than  these  same  hard-working  pioneers 
and  their  families.  I  will  now  tell  you  something 
about  their  home  life,  their  amusements  as  well 
as  their  labor. 

"Before  the  clearings  were  large  we  sometimes 
got  pinched  for  both  food  and  clothing,  though  I 
will  not  say  we  suffered  much  for  either,  though 
I  know  of  some  families  at  times  who  lived  on 
potatoes  "straiglit."  Usually  fish  could  be  had 
in  abundance,  and  considerable  game — some  bear 
and  plenty  of  deer.  The  clothing  gave  us  the 
most  trouble,  as  but  little  money  came  to  us  for 
the  small  quantity  of  produce  we  had  to  spare. 
I  remember  one  winter  we  were  at  our  wits'  end 
for  shoes.    We  just  could  not  get  money  to  buy 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         213 

shoes  enough  to  go  around,  but  managed  to  get 
leather  to  make  each  member  of  the  family  one 
pair.  We  killed  a  pig  to  get  bristles  for  the  wax- 
ends,  cut  the  pegs  from  a  green  alder  log  and 
seasoned  them  in  the  oven,  and  made  the  lasts 
out  of  the  same  timber.  Those  shoes  were 
clumsy,  to  be  sure,  but  they  kept  our  feet  dry 
and  warm,  and  we  felt  thankful  for  the  comforts 
vouchsafed  to  us  and  sorry  for  some  neighbors' 
children,  who  had  to  go  barefooted  even  in  quite 
cold  weather. 

"Music  was  our  greatest  pleasure  and  we  never 
tired  of  it.  "Uncle  John,''  as  everyone  called 
him,  the  old  teacher,  never  tired  teaching  the 
children  music,  and  so  it  soon  came  about  they 
could  read  their  music  as  readily  as  they  could 
their  school  books.  No  Christmas  ever  went  by 
without  a  Christmas  tree,  in  which  the  whole 
neighborhood  joined,  or  a  Fourth  of  July  passed 
without  a  celebration.  We  made  the  presents  for 
the  tree  if  we  could  not  buy  them,  and  supplied 
the  musicians,  reader,  and  orator  for  the  celebra- 
tion. Everybody  had  something  to  do  and  a 
voice  in  saying  what  should  be  done,  and  that 
very  fact  made  all  happy. 

"We  had  sixteen  miles  to  go  to  our  market 
town,  Steilacoom,  over  the  roughest  kind  of  a 


214  THE   OX   TEAM   OR 

road.  Nobody  had  horse  teams  at  the  start,  and 
so  we  had  to  go  with  ox  teams.  We  could  not 
make  the  trip  out  and  back  in  one  day,  and  did 
not  have  money  to  pay  hotel  bills,  and  so  we 
would  drive  out  part  of  the  way  and  camp  and 
the  next  morning  drive  into  town  very  early,  do 
our  trading,  and,  if  possible,  reach  home  the  same 
day.  If  not  able  to  do  this,  we  camped  again  on 
the  road ;  but  if  the  night  was  not  too  dark  would 
reach  home  in  the  night.  And  oh!  what  an  ap- 
petite we  would  have,  and  how  cheery  the  fire 
would  be,  and  how  welcome  the  reception  in  the 
cabin  home. 

"One  of  the  ^youngsters,'  fifty  years  old  to- 
morrow, after  reading  'The  Morning  School,' 
writes : 

"  *Yes,  father,  your  story  of  the  morning  school 
is  just  as  it  was.  I  can  see  in  my  mind's  eye  yet 
us  children  reciting  and  standing  up  in  a  row 
to  spell,  and  Auntie  and  mother  getting  break- 
fast, and  can  remember  the  little  bedroom;  of 
rising  early  and  of  reading  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin" 
as  a  dessert  to  the  work.' 

"Near  where  the  old  log  cabin  schoolhouse 
stood  our  high  school  building  now  stands,  large 
enough  to  accommodate  400  pupils.    In  the  diish 


THB  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  215 

trict  where  we  could  count  nineteen  children  of 
school  age,  with  eleven  in  attendance,  now  we 
have  1,007  boys  and  girls  of  school  age,  three 
large  schoolhouses,  and  seventeen  teachers. 

The  trees  and  stumps  are  all  gone  and  brick 
buildings  and  other  good  houses  occupy  much 
of  the  land,  and  as  many  people  now  live  in  that 
school  district  as  lived  both  east  and  west  of  the 
mountains  when  the  Territory  was  created  in 
March,  1853.  Instead  of  ox  teams,  and  some  at 
that  with  sleds,  the  people  have  buggies  and  car- 
riages, or  they  can  travel  on  any  of  the  eighteen 
passenger  trains  that  pass  daily  through  Puyal- 
lup,  or  on  street  cars  to  Tacoma,  and  also  on 
some  of  the  twenty  to  twenty-four  freight  trains, 
some  of  which  are  a  third  of  a  mile  long.  Such 
are  some  of  the  changes  wrought  in  fifty  years 
since  pioneer  life  began  in  the  Puyallup  valley. 

"Now,  just  try  your  hand  on  this  song  that  fol- 
lows, one  that  our  dear  old  teacher  has  sung  so 
often  for  us,  in  company  with  one  of  those  schol- 
ars of  the  old  log  cabin,  Mrs.  Frances  Bean,  now 
of  Tacoma,  who  has  kindly  supplied  the  words 
and  music: 


216  THE   OX   TEAM   OE 


•TIow  wondrous  are  the  changes 

Since  fifty  years  ago; 
When  girls  wore  woolen  dresses. 

And  boys  wore  pants  of  tow; 
And  shoes  were  made  of  cowhide, 

And  socks  of  homespun  wool: 
And  children  did  a  half  day's  work 

Before  they  went  to  school. 

Chorus — "Some  fifty  years  ago. 

Some  fifty  years  ago. 
The  men  and  the  boys. 
The  girls  and  the  toys; 
The  work  and  the  play, 
And  the  night  and  the  day. 
The  world  and  its  ways 
Are  all  turned  around 

Since  fifty  years  ago. 

"The  girls  took  music  lessons 

Upon  the  spinning  wheel, 
And  practiced  late  and  early 

On  spindle  swift  and  reel. 
The  boy  would  ride  the  horse  to  mill, 

A  dozen  miles  or  so, 
And  hurry  off  before  't  was  day. 

Some  fifty  years  ago. — Cho. 

"The  people  rode  to  meeting 

In  sleds  instead  of  sleighs. 
And  wagons  rode  as  easy 

As  buggies  nowadays; 
And  oxen  answered  well  for  teams. 

Though  now  they  'd  be  too  slow; 
For  people  lived  not  half  so  fast 

Some  fifty  years  ago. — Cho. 

"Ah!  well  do  I  remember 

That  Wilson's  patent  stove. 
That  father  bought  and  paid  for 

In  cloth  our  girls  had  wove; 
And  how  the  people  wondered 

Wken  we  got  the  thing  to  go, 
And  said  't  would  burst  and  kill  us  all. 

Borne  fifty  years  ago. — Cho." 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  217 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Questions  and  Answers. 

FROM  the  very  start,  questions  were  asked 
and  answers  given,  times  without  number, 
one  might  almost  say,  some  quite  pertinent  while 
others  were  prompted  from  idle  curiosity  alone 
and  became  annoying.  A  few  of  these  follow  to 
show  the  drift  of  the  questions,  there  being  but 
a  small  percentage  that  got  right  down  to  the 
pith  of  the  matter  without  prompting — the  erec- 
tion of  monuments  and  the  teaching  of  history 
to  the  younger  generation. 

The  children  in  particular  were  very  insistent 
to  know  all  about  the  expedition,  resulting  in 
contributions  from  nearly  three  thousand  of  them 
to  local  committees  for  erecting  monuments. 
Prom  the  nature  of  the  questions  it  became  evi- 
dent that  but  few  of  the  children  knew  anything 
about  the  old  Oregon  Trail  or  of  the  emigration, 
or  what  an  ox  was,  whether  some  wild  animal 
tamed,  or  a  particular  species  of  animals  of 
which  they  had  never  before  heard.  One  little 
five-year-old  girl,  with  large  confiding  eyes,  one 


218  THE   OX   TEAM  OS 

day  asked  my  granddaughter,  who  was  travel- 
ing with  me,  "What  is  your  name?"  Not  receiv- 
ing an  immediate  reply,  she  cuddled  up  a  little 
closer,  and  with  a  look  full  in  the  face,  said,  "Is 
your  name  Mrs.  Oxen?"  I  have  been  gravely 
asked  by  grown-up  people  if  those  were  the  same 
oxen  I  drove  in  1852,  some  of  these  in  alleged 
witticism,  yet  in  many  cases  in  thoughtless  quer- 
ies.   The  example  questions  follow : 

Q.  How  old  are  those  oxen,  daddy?  It  seems 
to  me  this  one  is  quite  young. 

A.  Yes,  that  ox,  Dave,  was  an  unbroke  range 
four-year-old  steer  when  we  started.  I  broke  him 
in  on  the  road,  the  same  as  I  did  in  1852,  the 
difference  being  the  team  was  all  young  and  un- 
broken in  '52,  while  this  other  ox.  Twist,  was 
well  broken  and  is  seven  years  old. 

Q.  Well,  where  are  you  going  with  that  rig? 
It 's  been  a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  the  like 
of  it. 

A.  I  am  going  first  to  Omaha,  following  as 
near  as  I  can  the  old  Oregon  Trail,  and  then 
drive  on  through  Iowa  and  Illinois  to  Indianap- 
olis, Indiana,  my  real  starting  point  for  Oregon 
in  the  fall  of  1851. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  219 

Q.  Goodness  gracious;  you  don't  expect  to 
drive  all  that  distance  with  that  yoke  of  oxen? 
Let  me  see,  how  far  is  it? 

A.  Yes,  I  expect  to  drive  the  whole  distance 
with  this  one  yoke  of  oxen.  It  is  nearly  3,000 
miles  as  the  wagon  road  runs. 

Q.  Well,  it 's  been  a  long  time  since  I  have 
seen  one  of  those  old-fashioned  prairie  schoon- 
ers; 1  inch-pins  and  all,  eh.  I  declare,  there's 
the  tar  bucket,  too.  Well,  well,  well ;  it  puts  me 
in  mind  of  old  times,  sure  enough.  My  father 
drove  one  of  them  across  the  Plains  in  '51.  I 
was  only  a  chunk  of  a  boy  then,  but  I  remember 
the  trip  well. 

Q.  Of  course  this  is  n't  the  same  wagon  you 
crossed  in,  in  '52,  is  it? 

A.  Oh,  no ;  but  that  hub  in  the  near  fore  wheel 
is  from  a  wagon  that  did  cross  the  Plains  to 
Oregon  in  1853.  That  is  the  only  old  woodwork 
in  this  wagon,  but  you  will  notice  all  the  hub 
bands  and  some  other  parts  of  the  iron  work  are 
from  old  wagons.  Yes,  the  hub  bands  of  the 
hind  wheels  don't  match  the  fore  wheels.  You 
see  I  had  to  use  the  remnants  of  three  old  wag- 
ons to  get  the  irons  for  one,  but  that  is  in  keep- 
ing with  what  was  to  be  seen  on  the  Plains  after 


290  THB   ox   TBAM   OB 

people  began  to  abandon  their  wagons.  Others 
would  come  along,  take  a  wheel  or  an  axle  to 
strengthen  their  own  with. 

Q.  Well,  1  never  could  see  what  those  prairie 
schooner  wagon-beds  were  made  crooked  for, 
could  you? 

A.  No,  I  can't  say  that  I  can,  but  they  came 
in  very  handy  in  crossing  rivers.  They  are  fash- 
ioned just  like  a  boat,  you  know,  on  the  bottom, 
and  answer  very  well  for  a  boat. 

Q.  But  did  you  ever  see  people  cross  rivers  in 
a  wagon-box? 

A.  Yes.  I  crossed  Snake  river  in  two  places 
myself  in  1852  in  my  wagon-box,  but  that  was 
in  an  ordinary  square  box.  Yes,  I  took  my 
wagon  over  in  it,  or  rather,  on  it,  for  the  run- 
ning-gear was  run  over  the  box  and  gradually 
run  out  into  deep  water  till  the  whole  was  afloat. 

Q.  Say,  Grandpap,  you  do  n't  expect  them  cat- 
tle to  last  you  till  you  get  to  Indianapolis,  do 
you? 

A.  Why  not?  Do  they  look  as  if  they  were 
about  given  out?  That  yoke  of  oxen  weighs  170 
pounds  more  than  they  did  when  I  left  home. 

Q.  Well,  that  *s  a  fact,  they  are  both  good  beef. 
How  much  did  you  say  they  weighed? 


THE  OLD  OREGON   TRAIL  221 

A.  The  last  time  I  weighed  them  they  tipped 
the  scales  at  3,217  pounds.  When  I  started  from 
Puyallup  they  weighed  3,130. 

Q.  Uncle,  what  the  mischief  are  you  going  on 
this  long  journey  for  this  way?  Why  do  n't  you 
get  you  a  good,  brisk  horse  team  or  a  span  of 
mules?  Oh,  say,  an  automobile  would  be  just 
the  thing,  would  n't  it? 

A.  I  am  going  on  this  trip  for  a  purpose,  not 
for  pleasure  or  comfort.  That  purpose  is  to 
arouse  public  interest  in  and  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  old  Oregon  Trail,  and  to  honor 
the  pioneers  who  made  it,  by  marking  the  Trail 
at  intersections  with  present-traveled  roads  and 
erecting  stone  monuments,  suitably  inscribed,  in 
centers  of  population.  You  will  agree  with  me 
the  ox  team  and  old-fashioned  outfit  at  least  ac- 
complishes the  first  object.  To  do  this  speedily 
and  effectively  I  must  first  arrest  public  atten- 
tion, after  which  I  may  enlist  their  sympathy 
and  secure  their  aid.  Would  you  have  known 
anything  about  this  expedition  had  it  not  been 
for  the  ox  team? 

Q.  No,  I  would  not,  that's  a  fact. 

Q.  Where  was  it  you  said  you  were  from, 
Unclet 


222  THE   ox   TEAM    OB 

A.  Puyallup,  Washington. 

Q.  Where  did  you  say  it  is? 

A.  Puyallup  is  in  the  valley  of  that  name  about 
nine  miles  southeast  of  the  city  of  Tacoma,  and 
is  on  the  Northern  Pacific  railroad,  between  Ta- 
coma and  Seattle,  and  nine  miles  distant  from 
Tacoma  and  thirty  miles  south  from  Seattle. 

Q.  Let  me  see,  what  did  you  say  was  the  name 
of  that  place? 

This  question  was  so  often  asked  and  otiicr 
kindred  questions  not  only  on  this  trip  but  else- 
where, I  am  prompted  to  draw  once  more  from 
my  work,  "Pioneer  Reminiscences  of  Puget 
Sound,"  and  quote  from  my  chapter  on  names  in 
that  work  written  in  lighter  vein,  yet  strictly 
historical,  for  I  did  have  the  experience  in  New 
York,  as  related,  and  in  London  likewise,  and 
afterwards  on  the  Yukon  river,  and  in  Dawson. 

"'I  have  another  historic  name  to  write  about, 
Puyallup,  that  we  know  is  of  Indian  origin — as 
old  as  the  memory  of  white  man  runs.  But  such 
a  name!  I  consider  it  no  honor  to  the  man  who 
named  the  town  (now  city)  of  Puyallup.  I  ac- 
cept the  odium  attached  to  inflicting  that  name 
on  suffering  succeeding  generations  by  first  plat- 
ting a  few  blocks  of  land  into  village  lots  and 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  223 

i-ecording  them  under  the  name  of  Puyallup.  I 
have  been  ashamed  of  the  act  ever  since.  The 
first  time  I  went  east  after  the  town  was  named 
and  said  to  a  friend  in  New  York  that  our  town 
was  named  Puyallup  he  seemed  startled.  ^Named 
what?'  ^Puyallup,'  I  said,  emphasizing  the  word. 
^That  's  a  jaw-breaker,'  came  the  response.  *How 
do  you  spell  it?'  T-u-y-a-1-l-u-p,'  I  said.  *Let 
me  see — how  did  you  say  you  pronounced  it?' 
Pouting  out  my  lips  like  a  veritable  Siwash,  and 
emphasizing  every  letter  and  syllable  so  as  to 
bring  out  the  Peuw  for  "Puy,"  and  the  strong 
emphasis  on  the  "al,"  and  cracking  my  lips  to- 
gether to  cut  off  the  "lup,"  I  finally  drilled  my 
friend  so  he  could  pronounce  the  word,  yet  fell 
short  of  the  elegance  of  the  scientific  pronunci- 
ation. 

"Then  when  I  crossed  the  Atlantic  and  across 
the  old  London  bridge  to  the  borough,  and  there 
encountered  the  factors  of  the  hop  trade  on  that 
historic  ground,  the  haunts  of  Dickens  in  his 
day;  and  when  we  were  bid  to  be  seated  to  par- 
take of  the  viands  of  an  elegant  dinner ;  and  when 
I  saw  the  troubled  look  of  my  friend,  whose  lot 
was  to  introduce  me  to  the  assembled  hop  mer- 
chants, and  knew  what  was  weighing  on  his  mind, 

15 


224  THE   ox   TEAM   01 

my  sympathy  went  out  to  him  but  remained  kelp- 
less  to  aid  him. 

"  *I  say — I  say — let  me  introduce  to  you  my 
American  friend — my  American  friend  from — 
my  American  friend  from — from — from' 

"And,  when,  with  an  imploring  look,  he  visibly 
appealed  to  me  for  help,  and  finally  blurted  out : 

"  *I  say.  Meeker,  1  caw  n't  remember  that 
blarsted  name — what  is  it?' 

"And  when  the  explosion  of  mirth  came  with : 
*A11  the  same,  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow — a  jolly 
good  fellow.' 

"I  say,  when  all  this  had  happened,  and  much 
more  besides,  I  could  yet  feel  resigned  to  my  fate. 

"Then  when  at  Dawson  I  could  hear  the  shrill 
whistle  from  the  would-be  wag,  and  hear: 

"  *He  's  all  the  way  from  Puy-aZ-lup,'  I  could 
jet  remain  in  composure. 

"Then  when,  at  night  at  the  theaters,  the  jest- 
ers would  say: 

"*Whar  was  it,  stranger,  you  said  you  was 
from?' 

« <Puy-aMup !' 

"  'Oh,  you  did?'  followed  by  roars  of  Inuc^hter 
all  over  the  house — all  this  I  could  hear  with 
seeming  equanimity. 


THB  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         225 

"But  when  letters  began  to  come  addressed 
Tewlupe,'  Tolly-pup/  *Pull-all-up/  Tewl-a-loop/ 
and  finally  ^Pay-all-up/  then  my  cup  of  sorrow 
was  full,  and  I  was  ready  to  put  on  sackcloth 
and  ashes." 


THE  OLD  OUEGON  TRAIL  227 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Autobiography  of  the  Author. 

NO  APOLOGY  is  otfered  for  this  writing  al- 
though no  very  apparent  reason  may  ap- 
pear to  call  for  it.  I  am  aware  that  the  life  of 
an  humble  citizen  is  of  not  much  importance  to 
the  public  at  large;  yet,  with  a  widening  circle 
of  friends  following  my  advanced  years,  I  feel 
justified  in  recording  a  few  of  the  incidents  of  a 
very  busy  life,  and  of  portraying  some  customs 
long  since  fallen  into  disuse,  and  relating  inci- 
dents of  early  days  now  almost  forgotten. 

I  was  born  at  Huntsville,  Butler  county,  Ohio, 
which  is  about  twenty-five  miles  northeasterly 
of  Cincinnati,  Ohio.  This,  to  me,  important 
event  occurred  on  December  29,  A.D.  1830,  and 
so  I  am  many  ye^rs  past  the  usual  limit  of  three 
score  years  and  ten. 

My  father's  ancestors  came  from  England  in 
1676,  settled  in  Elizabeth  City,  New  Jersey,  built 
a  very  substantial  stone  house  which  is  still  pre- 
served, furnished  more  than  a  score  of  hardy 
soldiers  in  the  War  for  Independence,  and  were 


228  THE  ox  TEAM  OR 

noted  for  their  stalwart  strength,  steady  habits, 
and  patriotic  ardor.  My  father  had  lost  nothing 
of  the  original  sturdy  instincts  of  the  stock  nor 
of  the  stalwart  strength  incident  to  his  ancestral 
breeding.  I  remember  that  for  three  years,  at 
Carlyle's  flouring  mill  in  the  then  western  sub- 
urbs of  Indianapolis,  Ind.,  he  worked  18  hours 
a  day,  as  miller.  He  had  to  be  on  duty  at  the 
mill  by  7:00  o'clock  a.  m.,  and  remained  on  duty 
until  one  o'clock  at  night  and  could  not  leave  the 
mill  for  dinner;— all  this  for  $20  a  month  and 
bran  for  the  cow,  and  yet  his  health  was  good 
and  strength  seem;ed  the  same  as  when  he  began 
the  ordeal.  My  mother's  maiden  name  was  Phoeba 
Baker.  A  strong  German  strain  of  blood  ran  in 
her  veins,  but  I  know  nothing  farther  back  than 
my  grandfather  Baker,  who  settled  in  Butler  coun- 
ty, Ohio,  in  the  year  1801  or  thereabouts.  My 
mother,  like  my  father,  could  and  did  endure 
continuous  long  hours  of  severe  labor  without  much 
discomfort,  in  her  household  duties.  I  have  known 
her  frequently  to  patch  and  mend  our  clothing 
until  11:00  o'clock  at  night  and  yet  would  in- 
variably be  up  in  the  morning  by  4:00  and  resume 
her  labors. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         229 

Both  my  parents  were  sincere,  though  not  aus- 
tere Christian  people,  my  mother  in  particular 
inclining  to  a  liberal  faith,  but  both  were  in  early 
days  members  of  the  "Disciples,"  or  as  sometimes 
known  as  "Newlites,"  afterwards,  I  believe, 
merged  with  the  "Christian"  church,  popularly 
known  as  the  "Campbellites,"  and  were  ardent 
admirers  of  Love  Jameson  who  presided  so  long 
over  the  Christian  organization  at  Indianapolis, 
and  whom  I  particularly  remember  as  one  of  the 
sweetest  singers  that  I  ever  heard. 

Small  wonder  that  with  such  parents  and  such 
surroundings  I  am  able  to  say  that  for  fifty-five 
years  of  married  life  I  have  never  been  sick  in 
bed  a  single  day,  and  that  I  can  and  have  en- 
dured long  hours  of  labor  during  my  whole  life, 
and  what  is  more  particularly  gratifying  that  I 
can  truthfully  say  that  I  have  always  loved  my 
work  and  that  I  never  watched  for  the  sun  to  go 
down  to  relieve  me  from  the  burden  of  labor. 

"Burden  of  labor?"  Why  should  any  man  call 
labor  a  burden?  It 's  the  sweetest  pleasure  of 
life,  if  we  will  but  look  aright.  Give  me  nothing 
of  the  "man  with  the  hoe"  sentiment,  as  depicted 
by  Markham,  but  let  me  see  the  man  with  a  light 
heart ;  that  labors ;  that  fulfils  a  destiny  the  good 


230  THE  ox  TEAMOE 

God  has  given  him;  that  fills  an  honored  place 
in  life  even  if  in  an  humble  station;  that  looks 
upon  the  bright  side  of  life  while  striving  as  best 
he  may  to  do  his  duty.  I  am  led  into  these 
thoughts  by  what  I  see  around  about  me,  so 
changed  from  that  of  my  boyhood  days  where 
labor  was  held  to  be  honorable,  even  though  in 
humble  stations. 

But,  to  return  to  my  story.  My  earliest  recol- 
lection, curiously  enough,  is  of  my  schoolboy 
days,  of  which  I  had  so  few.  I  was  certainly  not 
five  years  old  when  a  drunken,  brutal  school 
teacher  undertook  to  spank  me  while  holding 
me  on  his  knees  because  I  did  not  speak  a  word 
plainly.  That  was  the  first  fight  I  have  any 
recollection  of,  and  hardly  know  whether  I  re- 
member that  but  for  the  witnesses,  one  of  them 
my  oldest  brother,  who  saw  the  struggle,  where 
my  teeth  did  such  excellent  work  as  to  draw 
blood  quite  freely.  What  a  spectacle  that,  of  a 
half  drunken  teacher  maltreating  his  scholars! 
But  then  that  was  a  time  before  a  free  school 
system,  and  when  the  parson  would  not  hesitate 
to  take  a  wee  bit,  and  when,  if  the  decanter  was 
not  on  the  sideboard,  the  jug  and  gourd  served 
as  well  in  the  field  or  house.    To  harvest  without 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL  231 

whisky  in  the  field  was  not  to  be  thought  of; 
nobody  ever  heard  of  a  log-rolling  or  barn-rais- 
ing without  whisky.  And  so  I  will  say  to  the 
zealous  temperance  reformers,  Be  of  good  cheer, 
for  the  world  has  moved  in  these  seventy-five 
years.  Be  it  said,  though,  to  the  everlasting 
honor  of  my  father,  that  he  set  his  head  firmly 
against  the  practice,  and  said  his  grain  should 
rot  in  the  field  before  he  would  supply  whisky 
to  his  harvest  hands,  and  I  have  no  recollections 
of  ever  but  once  tasting  any  alcoholic  liquors  in 
my  boyhood  days. 

I  did,  however,  learn  to  smoke  when  very 
young.  It  came  about  in  this  way :  My  mother 
always  smoked,  as  long  as  I  can  remember. 
Women  those  days  smoked  as  well  as  men,  and 
nothing  was  thought  of  it.  Well,  that  was  before 
the  time  of  matches,  or  leastwise,  it  was  a  time 
when  it  was  thought  necessary  to  economize  in 
their  use,  and  hiother,  who  was  a  corpulent 
woman,  would  send  me  to  put  a  coal  in  her  pipe, 
and  so  I  would  take  a  whiff  or  two,  just  to  get  it 
started,  you  know,  which,  however,  soon  devel- 
oped into  the  habit  of  lingering  to  keep  it  going. 
But  let  me  be  just  to  myself,  for  more  than 
twenty  years  ago  I  threw  away  my  pipe  and 


232  THE   ox   TEAM  OB 

have  never  smoked  since,  and  never  will,  and 
now  to  those  smokers  who  say  they  "can't  quit" 
I  want  to  call  their  attention  t9  one  case  of  a 
man  that  did. 

My  next  recollection  of  scho«l-boy  days  was 
after  father  had  moved  to  Lockland,  Ohio,  then 
ten  miles  north  of  Cincinnati,  now,  I  presume, 
a  suburb  of  that  great  city.  I  played  "hookey*' 
instead  of  going  to  school,  but  one  day  while 
under  the  canal  bridge  the  noise  of  passing  teams 
so  frightened  me  that  I  ran  home  and  betrayed 
myself.  Did  my  mother  whip  me?  Why,  God 
bless  her  dear  old  soul,  no.  Whipping  of  chil- 
dren, though,  both  at  home  and  in  the  school- 
room was  then  about  as  common  as  eating  one's 
breakfast;  but  my  parents  did  not  think  it  was 
necessary  to  rule  by  the  rod,  though  then  their 
family  government  was  exceptional.  And  so  we 
see  now  a  different  rule  prevailing,  and  see  that 
the  world  does  move  and  is  getting  better. 

After  my  father's  removal  to  Indiana  times 
were  "hard,"  as  the  common  expression  goes, 
and  all  members  of  the  household  for  a  season 
were  called  on  to  contribute  their  mite.  I  drove 
four  yoke  of  oxen  for  twenty-five  cents  a  day, 
and  a  part  of  that  time  boarded  at  home  at  that. 


THH  OLD  OEEGON  TRAIL         233 

This  was  on  the  Wabash  where  oak  grubs  grew, 
as  father  often  said,  "as  thick  as  hair  on  a  dog's 
back,"  but  not  so  thick  as  that.  But  we  used  to 
force  the  big  plow  through  and  cut  grubs  with  the 
plow  shear,  as  big  as  my  wrist ;  and  when  we  saw 
a  patch  of  them  ahead,  then  was  when  I  learned 
how  to  halloo  and  rave  at  the  poor  oxen  and  in- 
considerately whip  them,  but  father  would  n't 
let  me  swear  at  them.  Let  me  say  parenthetically 
that  I  have  long  since  discontinued  such  a  fool- 
ish practice,  and  that  now  I  talk  to  my  oxen  in 
a  conversational  tone  of  voice  and  use  the  whip 
sparingly.  When  father  moved  to  Indianapolis, 
I  think  in  1838,  '^'times''  seemed  harder  than  ever 
and  I  was  put  to  work  whenever  an  opportunity 
for  employment  offered,  and  encouraged  by  my 
mother  to  seek  odd  jobs  and  keep  the  money  my- 
self, she,  however,  becoming  my  banker;  and  in 
three  years  I  had  actually  accumulated  |37. 
My!  but  what  a  treasure  that  was  to  me,  and 
what  a  bond  of  confidence  between  my  mother 
and  myself,  for  no  one  else,  as  I  thought,  knew 
anything  about  my  treasure.  I  found  out  after- 
wards, though,  that  father  knew  about  it  all  the 
time.  My  ambition  was  to  get  some  land.  I  had 
heard  there  was  a  forty-acre  tract  in  Hendrix 


284  THE   ox  TEAM  OB 

county  (Indiana)  yet  to  be  entered  at  |1.25  per 
acre,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  get  |50  together  I 
meant  to  hunt  up  that  land  and  secure  it.  I 
used  to  dream  about  that  land  day  times  as  well 
as  at  night.  1  sawed  wood  twice  to  the  cut  for 
twenty -five  cents  a  cord,  and  enjoyed  the  expe- 
rience, for  at  night  I  could  add  to  my  treasure. 
It  was  because  my  mind  did  not  run  on  school 
work  and  because  of  my  restless  disposition  that 
my  mother  allowed  me  to  do  this  instead  of 
compelling  me  to  go  to  school,  and  which  cut 
down  my  real  school-boy  days  to  less  than  six 
months.  It  was,  to  say  the  least,  a  dangerous 
experiment  and  one  which  only  a  mother  (who 
knows  her  child  better  than  all  others)  dare 
take,  and  I  will  not  by  any  means  advise  other 
mothers  to  adopt  such  a  course. 

Then  when  did  you  get  your  education?  the 
casual  reader  may  ask.  I  will  tell  you  a  story. 
When  in  1870  I  wrote  my  first  book  (long  since 
out  of  print),  "Washington  Territory  West  of 
the  Cascade  Mountains,"  and  submitted  the 
work  to  the  eastern  public,  a  copy  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Jay  Cook,  who  then  had  six  power 
presses  running  advertising  the  Northern  Pacific 
railroad,  and  he  at  once  took  up  my  whole  edi- 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         235 

tion.  Mr.  Cook,  whom  I  met,  closely  questioned 
me  as  to  where  J  was  educated.  After  having  an- 
swered his  many  queries  about  my  life  on  the 
frontier  he  would  not  listen  to  my  disclaimer  that 
I  was  not  an  educated  man,  referring  to  the  work 
in  his  hand.  The  fact  then  dawned  on  me  that  it 
was  the  reading  of  the  then  current  literature 
of  the  day  that  had  taught  me;  and  I  answered 
that  the  New  York  Tribune  had  educated  me,  as 
I  had  then  been  a  close  reader  of  that  paper  for 
eighteen  years,  and  it  was  there  I  got  my  pure 
English  diction,  if  I  possessed  it.  We  received 
mails  only  twice  a  month  for  a  long  time,  and 
sometimes  only  once  a  month,  and  it  is  needless 
to  say  that  all  the  matter  in  the  paper  was  read 
and  much  of  it  re-read  and  studied  in  the  cabin 
and  practiced  in  the  field.  However,  I  do  not 
set  my  face  against  school  training,  but  can  bet- 
ter express  my  meaning  by  the  quaint  saying 
that  "too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  more  than 
enough,"  a  phrase  in  a  way  senseless,  which  yet 
conveys  a  deeper  meaning  than  the  literal  words 
express.  The  context  will  show  the  lack  of  a 
common  school  education,  after  all,  was  not  en- 
tirely for  want  of  an  opportunity,  but  from  my 
aversion  to  confinement  and  preference  of  work 
to  study. 


286  THB   ox  THAM  OR 

In  those  days  apprenticeship  wa«  quite  com- 
mon, and  it  was  not  thought  to  be  a  disgrace  for 
a  child  to  be  "bound  out"  till  he  was  twenty-one, 
the  more  especially  if  this  involved  learning  a 
trade.  Father  took  a  notion  he  would  "bind  me 
out"  to  a  Mr.  Arthens,  the  mill  owner  at  Lock- 
land,  who  was  childless,  and  took  me  with  him 
one  day  to  talk  it  over.  Finally,  when  asked  how 
I  would  like  the  change,  I  promptly  replied  that 
it  would  be  all  right  if  Mrs.  Arthens  would  "do 
up  my  sore  toes,"  whereupon  there  was  such  an 
outburst  of  merriment  that  I  always  remembered 
it.  We  must  remember  that  boys  those  days  did 
not  wear  shoes  in  summer  and  quite  often  not 
in  winter  either.  But  mother  put  a  quietus  on 
the  whole  business  and  said  the  family  must  not 
be  divided,  and  it  was  not,  and  in  that  she  was 
right.  Give  me  the  humble  home  for  a  child  that 
is  a  home  in  fact,  rather  than  the  grandest  pal- 
ace where  home  life  is  but  a  sham. 

I  come  now  to  an  important  event  oJP  my  life, 
when  father  moved  from  Lockland,  Ohio,  to  near 
Covington,  Indiana.  I  was  not  yet  seven  years 
old,  but  walked  all  the  way  behind  the  wagon 
and  began  building  "castles  in  the  air,"  which  is 
thM  flrst  (but  by  no  means  the  last)  that  I  re- 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  237 

member.  We  were  going  ont  to  Indiana  to  be 
farmers,  and  it  was  hore,  near  the  banks  of  the 
Wabash,  that  I  learned  the  art  of  driving  four 
yoke  of  oxen  to  a  breaking  plow,  without 
swearing. 

This  reminds  me  of  an  after-experience,  the 
summer  I  was  nineteen.  Uncle  John  Kinworthy, 
good  old  soul  he  was,  an  ardent  Quaker  who 
lived  a  mile  or  so  out  from  Bridgeport,  Indiana, 
asked  me  one  day  while  I  was  passing  his  place 
with  three  yoke  of  oxen  to  haul  a  heavy  cider 
press  beam  in  place.  This  led  the  oxen  through 
the  front  dooryard  and  in  full  sight  and  hearing 
of  three  buxom  Quaker  girls  who  either  stood  in 
the  door,  or  poked  their  heads  out  of  the  windows, 
in  company  with  their  good  mother.  Go  through 
that  front  yard  past  those  girls  the  cattle  would 
not,  and  kept  doubling  back,  first  on  one  side  and 
then  on  the  other.  Uncle  Johnny,  noticing  I  did 
not  swear  at  th^  cattle,  and  attributing  the  ab- 
sence of  oaths  to  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  or 
maybe,  like  a  good  many  others,  he  thought  oxen 
could  not  be  driven  without  swearing  at  them, 
sought  an  opportunity,  when  the  mistress  of  the 
house  could  not  hear  him,  and  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"If  thee  can  do  any  better,  thee  had  better  let 


238  THE  ox   TEAM   OB 

out  the  word."  Poor,  good  old  soul,  he  doubtless 
justified  himself  in  his  own  mind  that  it  was  no 
more  sin  to  swear  all  the  time  than  part  of  the 
time;  and  why  is  it?  I  leave  the  answer  to  that 
person,  if  he  can  be  found,  that  never  swears. 

Yes,  I  say  again,  give  me  the  humble  home  for 
a  child,  that  is  a  home  in  fact,  rather  than  the 
grandest  palace  where  home  life  is  but  a  sham. 
And  right  here  is  where  this  generation  has  a 
grave  problem  to  solve,  if  it 's  not  the  gravest  of 
the  age,  the  severance  of  child  life  from  the  real 
home  and  the  real  home  influences,  by  the  factory 
child  labor,  the  boarding  schools;  the  rush  for 
city  life,  and  so  many  others  of  like  influences 
at  work,  that  one  can  only  take  time  to  mention 
examples. 

And  now  the  reader  will  ask,  What  do  you 
mean  by  the  home  life,  and  to  answer  that  I  will 
relate  some  features  of  my  early  home  life, 
though  by  no  means  would  say  that  I  would 
want  to  return  to  all  the  ways  of  "ye  olden 
times." 

My  mother  always  expected  each  child  to  have 
a  duty  to  perform,  as  well  as  to  play.  Light 
labor,  to  be  sure,  but  labor ;  something  of  service. 
Our  diet  was  so  simple,  the  mere  relation  may 


THE   OLD   0RP:G0N   TRAIL  289 

create  a  smile  with  the  casual  reader.  The  mush 
pot  was  a  great  factor  in  our  home  life;  a  great 
heavy  iron  pot  that  hung  on  the  crane  in  the 
chimney  corner  where  the  mush  would  slowly 
bubble  and  splutter  over  or  near  a  bed  of  oak 
coals  for  half  the  afternoon.  And  such  mush, 
always  made  from  yellow  corn  meal  and  cooked 
three  hours  or  more.  This,  eaten  with  plenty  of 
fresh,  rich  milk,  comprised  the  supper  for  the 
children.  Tea?  Not  to  be  thought  of.  Sugar? 
It  was  too  expensive — cost  fifteen  to  eighteen 
cents  a  pound,  and  at  a  time  it  took  a  week's 
labor  to  earn  as  much  as  a  day's  labor  now. 
Cheap  molasses,  sometimes,  but  not  often.  Meat, 
not  more  than  once  a  day,  but  eggs  in  abundance. 
Everything  father  had  to  sell  was  low-priced, 
while  everything  mother  must  buy  at  the  store 
was  high.  Only  to  think  of  it,  you  who  complain 
of  the  hard  lot  of  the  workers  of  this  generation : 
wheat  twenty-five  cents  a  bushel,  corn  fifteen 
cents,  pork  two  and  two  and  a  half  cents  a  pound, 
with  bacon  sometimes  used  as  fuel  by  the  reck- 
less, racing  steamboat  captains  of  the  Missis- 
sippi. But  when  we  got  onto  the  farm  with 
abundance  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  with  plenty 
of  pumpkin  pies  and  apple  dumplings,  our  cup  of 
16 


240  TE[B  ox   TEAM   OB 

joy  was  full,  and  we  were  the  happiest  mortals 
on  earth.  As  I  have  said,  4:00  o'clock  scarcely 
ever  found  my  mother  in  bed,  and  until  within 
very  recent  years  I  can  say  that  5 :00  o'clock  al- 
most invariably  finds  me  up.  Habit,  do  you  say? 
No,  not  that  wholly,  though  that  may  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  it,  but  I  get  up  early  because  I 
want  to,  and  because  I  have  something  to  do. 

When  I  was  born,  thirty  miles  of  railroad  com- 
prised the  whole  mileage  of  the  United  States, 
and  this  only  a  tramway.  Now,  how  many  hun- 
dred thousand  miles  I  know  not,  but  many  miles 
over  the  two  hundred  thousand  mark.  When  I 
crossed  the  great  states  of  Illinois  and  Iowa  on 
my  way  to  Oregon  in  1852  not  a  mile  of  railroad 
had  been  built  in  either  state.  Only  four  years 
before  the  first  line  was  built  to  Indiana,  really  a 
tramway,  from  Madison,  on  the  Ohio  river  to  In- 
dianapolis. What  a  furor  the  building  of  that 
railroad  created!  Earnest,  honest  men  opposed 
the  building  just  as  sincerely  as  men  now  advo- 
cate the  public  ownership;  both  propositions  are 
fallacious,  the  one  long  since  exploded,  the  other 
in  due  time  as  sure  to  die  out  as  the  first.  My 
father  was  a  strong  advocate  of  the  railroads, 
but  I  caught  the  arguments  on  the  other  side  ad- 


THE   OLD   OREGON    TRAIL  241 

vocated  with  such  vehemence  as  to  have  the 
sound  of  anger.  What  will  our  farmers  do  with 
their  hay  if  all  the  teams  that  are  hauling  freight 
to  the  Ohio  river  are  thrown  out  of  employment? 
What  will  the  tavern  keepers  do?  What  will 
become  of  the  wagoners?  A  hundred  such  quer- 
ies would  be  asked  by  the  opponents  of  the  rail- 
road and,  to  themselves,  triumphantly  answered 
that  the  country  would  be  ruined  if  railroads 
were  built.  Nevertheless,  Indianapolis  has 
grown  from  ten  thousand  to  much  over  a  hun- 
dred thousand,  notwithstanding  the  city  enjoyed 
the  unusual  distinction  of  being  the  first  ter- 
minal city  in  the  state  of  Indiana.  I  remember 
it  was  the  boast  of  the  railroad  magnates  of  that 
day  that  they  would  soon  increase  the  speed  of 
their  trains  to  fourteen  miles  an  hour, — this 
when  they  were  running  twelve. 

In  the  year  1844  a  letter  came  from  Grand- 
father Baker  to  my  mother  that  he  would  give 
her  a  thousand  dollars  with  which  to  buy  a  farm. 
The  burning  question  with  my  father  and  mother 
was  how  to  get  that  money  out  from  Ohio  to  In- 
diana. They  actually  went  in  a  covered  wagon 
to  Ohio  for  it  and  hauled  it  home,  all  silver  dol- 
lars, in  a  box, — this  at  a  time  when  there  had 


242  THE   ox    TEAM   OE 

been  but  a  few  million  silver  dollars  coined  in 
all  of  the  United  States.  It  was  this  money  that 
bought  the  farm  five  miles  southwest  from  In- 
dianapolis, where  I  received  my  first  real  farm 
training.  Father  had  advanced  ideas  about 
farming,  though  a  miller  by  trade,  and  early 
taught  me  some  valuable  lessons  I  never  forgot. 
We  (I  say  "we"  advisedly,  as  father  continued  to 
work  in  the  mill  and  left  me  in  charge  of  the 
farm)  soon  brought  up  the  run-down  farm  to 
produce  twenty-three  bushels  of  wheat  per  acre 
instead  of  ten,  by  the  rotation  of  corn,  and  clover 
and  then  wheat.  But  there  was  no  money  in 
farming  at  the  then  prevailing  prices,  and  the 
land,  which  father  paid  ten  dollars  an  acre  for 
would  not  yield  a  rental  equal  to  the  interest  on 
the  money.  Now  that  same  land  is  probably 
worth  five  hundred  dollars  an  acre. 

For  a  time  I  worked  in  the  Journal  printing 
office  for  S.  V.  B.  Noel,  who,  I  think,  was  the 
publisher  of  the  Journal,  and  also  printed  a  free- 
soil  paper.  A  part  of  my  duty  was  to  deliver 
those  papers  to  subscribers  who  always  treated 
me  civilly,  but  when  I  was  caught  on  the  streets 
of  Indianapolis  with  the  papers  in  my  hand  I 
was  sure  of  abuse  from  some  one,  and  a  number 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         243 

of  times  narrowly  escaped  personal  violence.  In 
the  office  I  worked  as  roller  boy,  but  known  as 
"the  devil,"  a  term  that  annoyed  me  not  a  little. 
The  pressman  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Wood. 
In  the  same  room  was  a  power  press,  the  power 
being  a  stalwart  negro  who  turned  a  crank.  We 
used  to  race  with  the  power  press,  and  could 
print  just  half  as  many  sheets  on  the  hand  press 
as  they  could  on  the  vaunted  power  press,  when 
I  would  fly  the  sheets,  that  is,  take  them  ofif  when 
printed  with  one  hand  and  roll  the  type  with  the 
other.  This  so  pleased  Noel  that  he  advanced 
my  wages  to  |1.50  a  week. 

The  present  generation  can  have  no  conception 
of  the  brutal  virulence  of  the  advocates  of  slavery 
against  the  "nigger"  and  "nigger  lovers,"  as  all 
were  known  who  did  not  join  in  the  crusade 
against  the  negroes.  One  day  we  heard  a  com- 
motion on  the  streets,  and  upon  inquiry  were 
told  that  "they  had  just  killed  a  nigger  up  the 
street,  that's  all,"  and  went  back  to  work 
shocked,  but  could  do  nothing.  But  when  a  little 
later  word  came  that  it  was  Wood's  brother  that 
had  led  the  mob  and  that  it  was  "old  Jimmy 
Blake's  man"  (who  was  known  as  a  sober,  in- 
offensive   colored    man)     consternation    seized 


2^  THE   OX    TBAM   OE 

Wood  as  with  an  iron  grip.  His  grief  was  in- 
consolable. The  negro  had  been  set  upon  by  rtie 
mob  just  because  he  was  a  negro  and  for  no  other 
reason  and  brutally  murdered.  That  murder, 
coupled  with  the  abuse  I  had  received  at  the 
hands  of  this  same  element,  set  me  to  thinking, 
and  I  then  and  there  embraced  the  anti-slavery 
doctrines  and  ever  after  adhered  to  them  till  the 
question  was  settled. 

One  of  the  subscribers  to  whom  I  delivered 
that  anti-slavery  paper  was  Henry  Ward  Bee- 
cher,  who  had  then  not  attained  the  fame  that 
came  to  him  later  in  life,  but  to  whom  I  became 
attached  by  his  kind  treatment  and  kind  words 
he  always  found  time  to  utter.  He  was  then,  I 
think,  pastor  of  the  Congregational  church  that 
faced  on  the  "Governor's  circle."  The  church 
doubtless  has  long  since  been  torn  down. 

One  episode  of  my  life  I  remember  because  I 
thought  my  parents  were  in  the  wrong.  Vocal 
music  was  taught  in  singing  schools  almost,  I 
might  say,  as  regular  as  day  schools.  I  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  music,  and  before  the  change 
came  had  a  splendid  alto  voice,  and  became  a 
leader  in  my  part  of  the  class.  This  coming  to 
the  notice  of  the  trustees  of  Beecher's  church, 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL         24S 

an  effort  was  made  to  have  me  join  the  choir. 
Mother  fii'st  objected  because  my  clothea  were 
not  good  enough,  whereupon  an  offer  was  made 
to  suitably  clothe  me  and  pay  something  besides ; 
but  father  objected  because  he  did  not  want  me 
to  listen  to  preaching  other  than  the  sect  (Camp- 
bellite)  to  which  he  belonged.  The  incident  set 
me  to  thinking,  and  finally  drove  me,  young  as 
I  was,  into  the  liberal  faith,  though  I  dare  not 
openly  espouse  it.  In  those  days  many  ministers 
openly  preached  of  endless  punishment  in  a  lake 
of  fire,  but  I  never  could  believe  the  doctrine,  and 
yet  their  words  would  carry  terror  into  my  heart. 
The  ways  of  the  world  are  better  now  in  this,  as 
in  many  other  respects. 

One  episode  of  my  life  while  working  in  the 
printing  office  I  have  remembered  vividly  ail 
these  years.  During  the  camjjaign  of  1844  the 
whigs  held  a  second  gathering  on  the  Tippecanoe 
battle-ground.  Jt  could  hardly  be  called  a  con- 
vention. A  better  name  for  the  gathering  would 
be  a  political  camp-meeting.  The  people  came 
in  wagons,  on  horseback,  afoot, — any  way  to  get 
there — ^and  camped  just  like  people  used  to  do 
in  their  religious  camp-meetings.  The  journey- 
men printers  of  the  Journal  office  planned  to  go 


246  THE   ox  TEAM    OB 

in  a  covered  dead  axle  wagon,  and  signified  they 
would  make  a  place  for  the  "devil/'  if  his  parents 
would  let  him  go  along.    This  was  speedily  ar- 
ranged with  mother,  who  always  took  charge  of 
such  matters.    The  proposition  coming  to  NoeFs 
ears  he  said  for  the  men  to  print  me  some  cam- 
paign songs,  which  they  did  with  a  will,  Wood 
running  them  off  the  press  after  night  while  I 
rolled  the  type  for  him.  My !  Was  n't  I  the  proud- 
est boy  that  ever  walked  the  earth?    Visions  of 
ii  pocket  full  of  money  haunted  me  almost  day 
and  night  until  we  arrived  on  the  battlefield. 
But  lo  and  behold,  nobody  would  pay  any  at- 
tention to  me.     Bands  of  music  were  playing 
here  and  there ;  glee  clubs  would  sing  and  march 
first  on  one  side  the  ground  and  then  the  other; 
processions  were  marching  and  the  crowds  surg- 
ing, making  it  necessary  for  one  to  look  out  and 
not  get  run  over.     Coupled  with  this,  the  rain 
would  pour  down  in  torrents,  but  the  marching 
and  countermarching  went  on  all  the  same  and 
continued  for  a  week.     An  elderly  journeyman 
printer  named  May,  who  in  a  way  stood  sponsor 
for  our  party,  told  me  if  I  would  get  up  on  the 
fence  and  sing  my  songs  the  people  would  buy 
them,  and  sure  enough  the  crowds  came  and  I 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TEAIL         247 

sold  every  copy  I  had,  and  went  home  with 
eleven  dollars  in  my  pocket,  the  richest  boy  on 
earth. 

It  was  about  this  time  the  start  was  made  of 
printing  the  Indianapolis  News,  a  paper  that 
has  thriven  all  these  after  years.  These  same 
rollicking  printers  that  comprised  the  party  to 
the  battle-ground  put  their  heads  together  to 
have  some  fun,  and  began  printing  out  of  hours 
a  small  9  x  11  sheet  filled  with  short  paragraphs 
of  sharp  sayings  of  men  and  things  about  town, 
some  more  expressive  than  elegant,  and  in  fact 
some  not  fit  for  polite  ears;  but  the  pith  of  the 
matter  was  they  treated  only  of  things  that  were 
true  and  of  men  moving  in  the  highest  circles.  I 
can  not  recall  the  given  names  of  any  of  these 
men.  May,  the  elderly  man  before  referred  to,  a 
man  named  Finly,  and  another.  Elder,  were  the 
leading  spirits  in  the  enterprise.  Wood  did  the 
presswork  and  my  share  was  to  ink  the  type,  and 
in  part  stealthily  distribute  the  papers,  for  it  was 
a  great  secret  where  they  came  from  at  the  start 
— all  this  "just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,"  but  the 
sheet  caused  so  much  comment  and  became 
sought  after  so  much  that  the  mask  was  thrown 
off  and  the  little  paper  launched  as  a  "semi-occa- 


248  THE  OX   l^EAM  OB 

sionaP'  publication  and  "sold  by  carrier  only," 
all  this  by  after  hours,  when  the  regular  day^s 
work  was  finished.  I  picked  up  quite  a  good 
many  fip-i-na-bits  (a  coin  representing  the  value 
of  61/4  cents)  myself  from  the  sale  of  these. 
After  awhile  the  paper  was  published  regu- 
larly, a  rate  established,  and  the  little  paper 
took  its  place  among  the  regular  publica- 
tions of  the  day.  This  writing  is  altogether  from 
memory  of  occurrences  sixty-two  years  ago,  and 
may  be  faulty  in  detail,  but  the  main  facts  are 
true,  which  probably  will  be  borne  out  by  the 
files  of  the  great  newspaper  that  has  grown  from 
the  seed  sown  by  those  restless  journeymen 
printers. 

This  writing  has  already  run  far  beyond  the 
space  allotted  for  it,  and  must  necessarily  be  sus- 
pended until  a  more  opportune  time. 

Horace  Greeley,  writing  of  the  resumption  of 
specie  payment,  said  the  way  to  resume  was  to 
resume,  and  applying  that  rule,  the  way  to  sus- 
pend this  writing  is  to  suspend.  So  ends  this 
chapter,  and  so  ends  the  book. 


THE  OLD  OREGON  TRAIL 

This  famous  Trail,  shown  on  the  map,  the  natural 
gateway  to  the  Pacific,  may  be  said  to  date  back  to  the 
discovery  oi*  the  South  Pass  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
in  1822  by  Etienne  Provost,  although  sections  of  it 
had  been  traversed  by  hardy  adventurers  in  the  early 
part  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

After  the  buffaloes  came  the  Indians,  followed  in 
turn  by  trappers  and  traders,  and  these  by  the  in- 
trepid missionaries  who  pointed  the  way  for  that 
mightiest  migration  of  the  world's  history,  the  home 
builders,  of  the  Pacific  Northwest,  to  the  Oregon  coun- 
try. History  does  not  record  so  great  a  movement  for 
so  great  a  distance  as  this,  over  a  2,000  miles  stretch 
of  an  unknown  country  from  the  Missouri  River  to 
the  Pacific  coast.  The  Mormons  in  1846  and  the  gold 
seekers  of  California  in  '49  followed  the  Oregon  Trail 
for  more  than  a  thousand  miles  to  the  big  bend  of  the 
Bear  river  and  contended  for  possession  of  the  single 
trail  then  existing,  with  the  still  passing  throng  to 
Oregon,  until  in  later  years  parallel  tracks  were  worn 
deep  for  long  distances  as  the  multitudes  jostled  each 
other  on  their  weary  westward  journey. 

The  Oregon  Trail  is  without  its  parallel  of  pictur- 
esque sceneries,  its  tragedies  and  legends  of  heroism, 
that  some  day  will  lend  a  theme  for  an  imperishable 
epic  to  go  down  into  history  for  all  ages,  as  has 
already  been  the  physical  marks  along  the  way  to 
point  the  spots  where  the  multitudes  passed  and 
suffered  and  died. 


fFrom  the  New  York  Evening  Post,  Saturday,  May  i8th,  1907 

Last  Blazes  on  the  Oregon  Trail 

Aged  Pioneer  Retraced  his  March  of  Fifty-Four  Years  Before — Ezra  Meeker  •> 
Journey  from  Puyallup  to  his  Indiana  Home — Many  Monuments 
Erected  Along  the  Way — Famous  Travelers  who  Trod  the  Rough 
Road's  2,000  Miles — Both  the  Oregon  and  Santa  Fe  Trails  Now  Per- 
manently Marked. 

Originally  blazed,  for  a  portion  of  the  way,  by  Dc  la  Verendrye,  in  1742;  trodden  a 
distance  by  Lewis  and  Clark  as  they  pushed  across  the  vast  trans-Mississippi  empire;  worn  by 
the  trappers  and  adventurers  of  the  first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century,  such  men  as  Ezekiel 
Williams,  Gen.  Ashley,  "Tim"  Bridger,  Campbell,  Fitzpatrick,  Sublette,  and  Wilson  Price  Hunt, 
and  made  into  a  hard  and  smooth  highway  by  the  hardy  Missourians  rushing  across  the  continent 
in  search  of  gold,  by  the  Mormons  seeking  a  new  land  of  liberty,  and  by  countless  soldiers  of 
fortune,  the  tamour  Oregon  trail  has  at  last  been  rescued  from  oblivion  and  marked  with  stone 
monuments,   thanks   largely   to   the   work   of   one   man,    Ezra    Meeker. 

Starting  from  his  home  in  Puyallup,  Wash.,  on  January  29,  1906,  Mr.  Meeker  retraced 
his  march  of  fifty-four  years  before,  back  along  the  Oregon  trail  to  its  Eastern  terminus,  on  the 
Missouri  River,  then  across  Iowa  and  Illinois  to  his  Indiana  home.  As  he  journeyed,  Mr. 
Meeker  interested  the  people  along  the  route  in  the  importance  of  saving  the  Oregon  trail  from 
oblivion.  Their  fathers  and  grandfathers  had  helped  to  make  it,  but  the  past  was  in  a  fair  way 
to  be  forgotten.  The  line  of  a  great  transcontinental  railroad  parallels  or  covers  the  old 
Oregon  trail  for  much  of  its  wajr  to-day,  but  there  were  detours  and  stages  to  be  marked 
before   they  were   lost  sight  of  entirely. 

So  this  old  trail,  which  was  one  of  the  great  roadways  of  the  nation  a  century  and  a 
half-century  ago,  has  become  known  better  than  ever  to  the  present  generation.  Between 
Puyallup  and  Omaha  nineteen  monuments  have  been  erected.  Ezra  Meeker,  kfter  a  year's ' 
travel,  reached  his  Indiana  home.  His  journey  and  his  work  ended.  Not  so  the  interest  in 
the  old  trail,  especially  as  it  follows  the  marking  of  another  old  trail,  the  Santa  Fe,  through- 
Kansas. 

Before  tracin§r  the  Oregon  trail  across  the  country  from  the  Missouri  River  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean  and  counting  over  those  who  wore  it  smooth,  it  might  be  well  to  summarize  briefly 
Mr.   Meeker's  work  in  marking  it. 

INTERESTING    THE    PEOPLE. 

After  he  left  his  Washington  home,  more  than  2,500  people  contributed  to  the  erection 
of  Oregon  trail  monuments.  At  intervals  along  the  route,  Mr.  Meeker,  with  the  aid  of  people 
for  whom  he  and  others  blazed  the  way,  erected  monuments — a  huge  stone  boulder  here,  a 
cairn  of  stones  there,  a  signboard  or  post  in  another  place.  In  Baker  City,  Oregon,  the 
monument  was  erected  by  contributions  received  from  800  school-children,  all  of  whom  were 
present  when  it  was  dedicated.  At  Boise,  Idaho,  Mr.  Meeker  camped  for  several  days  beside 
the  post  office.  He  spoke  to  the  public  school-children  of  his  object,  and  1,200  contributed  to 
purchase  the  granite  monument,  which  will  mark  the  place  where  the  old-timers  passed  through 
what  is  now  a  thriving  city.  The  governor  of  the  State  and  other  State  officers  insisted  that 
the  monument  be  erected  on  the  State  House  yard,  and  it  was  dedicated  in  the  presence 
more  than  3,000   people. 

To  erect  a  monument  at  the  summit  of  South  Pass,  Mr.  Meeker  travclicd  eighty-four  mi 
from  a  post  office,  and  twenty-four  persons  who  reside  in  the  neighborhood  were  the  01. 
witnesses  of  the  event.  The  monument  stands*  on  the  irrigation  survey  near  Sweetwater,  .r 
is  7.450  feet  above  sea  level,  one  of  the  highest  of  such  landmarks  in  the  country. 

In   many   of  the   towns   and   places   where   monuments   were   erected,   Mr.    Meeker   stayed 
see  the  work  done,  but  in  many  other  instances  he  turned  the  matter  over  to  a  local  commit  1 
appointed   for  that  purpose. 

BEGAN    ON    THE    MISSOURL 

The  Oregon  trail  began,  as  did  the  Santa  Fe  trail,  leading  to  the  Southwest,  at  the  tov 
of  Independence,  on  the  Missouri  River.  Practically,  St.  Louis  was  the  eastern  tcrminr 
men  and  goods  going  up  the  Missouri  River  to  Independence,  and  there  taking  wagon  a- 
settinjT  out   cither   for  the   Northwest  or   the    Southwest. 

The  two  trails  were  the  same  for  forty-one  miles,  when,  as  the  historian  Chittenden 
remarks,  a  simple  signboard  was  seen  which  carried  ttie  words.  "Road  to  Oregon."  That 
signboard  to-day,  with  its  lack  of  ostentation  and  its  epigrammatic  cUarncss,  would  be  worth 
more   than   its  proverbial   weight   in   gold  to   any   State  historical   society. 

There  were  branch  trails  that  came  into  the  road  from  Leavenworth  and  St.  Joaep: 
striking  it  above  the  point  of  departure  from  the  Santa  F6  trail;  but  the  Oregon  trail  prop 
swung  off  from  this  fork,  running  steadily  to  the  northwest,  part  of  the  time  along  the  Liti 
'rl"^  R>vcr,  until  at  length  it  struck  the  valley  of  the  Platte,  so  essential  to  its  wclf.T: 
Ihe    distance    from    Independence    to    the    Platte    was    316    miles,    the    trail    reaching    the    Plai 


about    twenty    miles    below    the    head    of    Grand    Island,     The    course    thence    lay    up    the    Platte 
valley  to  the  two  fords,  about  at  the  Forks  of  the  Platte,  433  or  493  miles. 

Here  at  the  Forks  was  a  point  of  departure  in  the  old  days.  If  one  chose  to  follow  the 
South  Forks  of  the  Platte  he  might  bring  up  in  the  Bayou  Salade,  within  reach  of  the  Spanish 
settlements  and  the  head  of  the  Arkansas,  or  he  might  take  the  other  arm  and  come  out  on  the 
edge    of   the    Continental    Divide,    much    higher    to   the    north. 

The  Oregon  trail  followed  the  South  Fork  for  a  time,  then  swung  over  to  the  North  Fork, 
at  Ash  Creek,  513  miles  from  Independence.  It  was  667  miles  to  Fort  Laramie,  which  was 
the  last  post  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Rockies.  Thence  the  trail  struggled  on  up  the  Platte, 
keeping  close  as  it  might  to  the  stream,  till  it  reached  the  ford  of  the  Platte,  well  up  toward 
the  mountains,  and  794  miles  out  from  independence,  nearly  the  same  distance  from  that 
point  as  was  Santa   Fe  on  the  lower  trail. 

INDEPENDENCE    ROCK. 

A  little  farther  on  the  trail  forsook  the  Platte,  807  miles  out  from  Missouri,  and  swung 
across  to  the  valley  of  the  Sweetwater.  The  famous  Independence  Rock,  838  miles  from 
Independence,  was  one  of  the  most  noteworthy  features  along  the  trail.  It  marked  the  entrance 
into  the  Sweetwater  district  and  was  a  sort  of  register,  holding  the  rudely  carved  names  of 
many  of  the  hardy  Western  adventurers.  By  the  Sweetwater  the  Oregon  trailers  were  taken 
below  the  foot  of  the  Bighorns,  past  the  Devil's  Gate,  and  up  to  that  remarkable  crossing  of 
the  Rockies,  known  as  South  Pass,  where  Ezra  Meeker  dedicated  his  monument  under  such 
unusual  circumstances,  taking  water  from  the  irrigation  ditches  on  the  east  side  of  the  Con- 
tinental  Divide  to   irrigate   the    west   side.     This   is  947   miles   from   the   Missouri    River. 

Starting  now  down  the  Pacific  side  of  the  Great  Divide,  the  traveller  passed  over  125 
miles  of  somewhat  forbidding  country,  crossing  the  Green  River  before  he  came  to  Fort 
Bridger,  the  first  resting  point  west  of  the  Rockies,  1,070  miles  from  the  Missouri.  This  was 
a   delightful  spot  in  every   way,   and   always   welcomed   by   the    Oregon   trailers. 

The  Bear  River  was  1,136  miles  from  Independence,  and  to  the  Soda  Springs,  on  the 
big  bend  of  the  Bear,  was  1,206  miles.  Thence  one  crossed  over  the  height  of  land  between 
the  Bear  and  Port  Neuf  Rivers,  the  latter  being  Columbia  water;  and,  at  a  distance  of  1,288 
miles  from  Independence,  reached  the  very  important  point  of  Fort  Hall,  the  post  established 
by  Nathaniel  Wyeth.  This  was  the  first  point  at  which  the  trail  struck  the  Snake  River,  that 
great  lower  arm  of  the  Columbia,  which  came  dropping  from  its  source  opposite  the  headwaters 
of  the   Missouri  to  point  out  the  way  to   travellers. 

At  the  Raft  River  was  another  point  of  great  interest;  for  here  turned  aside  the  arm  of 
the  transcontinental  trail  that  led  to  California.  This  fork  of  the  road  was  1,334  miles  from 
the  Missouri.  Working  as  best  it  might  from  the  Raft  River,  down  the  Great  Snake  valley, 
touching  and  crossing  and  paralleling  several  different  streams,  the  Oregon  trail  proper  ran 
until  it  reached  the  Grande  Ronde  valley,  at  the  eastern  edge  of  the  difficult  Blue  Mountains, 
1,736  miles  from  the  starting  point.  The  railway  to-day  crosses  the  Blues  exactly  where  the 
old   trail    did. 

Then  the  route  struck  the  Umatilla,  and  shortly  thereafter  the  Columbia  River.  It  was 
1,934  miles  to  the  Dalles,  1,977  to  the  Cascades,  2,020  miles  to  Fort  Vancouver,  and  2,134  to 
the   mouth  of  the   Columbia,   though   the    trail   proper   terminated   at   Fort   Vancouver. 

Such  was  the  Oregon  trail,  traversed  by  hundreds  and  thousands  of  hardy  adventurers, 
outlet  of  the  Missouri  rendezvousing  station,  a  mighty  highway  across  which  surged  the  advance 
tide  of  a  nation's  traffic. 

BLAZERS    OB    THE    TRAIL. 

Who  blazed  and  followed  this  historic  highway,  destined  to  be  marked  to  posterity  fifty 
years  after  its  zenith?  The  Frenchman  De  la  Verendrye  was  perhaps  the  first  to  tread  a 
portion  of  the  later  Oregon  trail;  since  it  is  known  that  he  forsook  the  Missouri  River  and 
started  overland,  possibly  up  the  Platte,  crossing  some  of  the  country  which  the  Astorians 
saw  later.  This  was  in  1742.  The  trapper  Ezekiel  Williams,  said  to  have  been  the  first  white 
man  to  cross  the  borders  of  what  is  now  Wyoming,  followed  in  the  wake  of  Lewis  and  Clarke, 
in  1807,  and  blazed  a  part  of  the  way.  Andrew  Tlenry,  whose  name  was  given  to  a  beautiful 
lake  of  the  Rockies;  Etienne  Provost,  the  probable  discoverer  of  historic  South  Pass;  Campbell, 
Fitzpatrick,  Sublette,  Jim  Bridger,  Gen.  Ashley,  Bonneville,  and  Walker;  these  are  but  a  few 
of  the  leaders  who  blazed  and  trod  tne  Oregon  trail,  making  it  a  well-defined  highway  before 
I'remont  set  out  as  a  "pathfinder." 

Then  came  Wilson  Price  Hunt,  with  his  overland  Astorians,  seeking  a  way  from  the 
mid-Missouri  to  the  Columbia  River.  Later,  Robert  Stuart  and  the  returning  Astorians  were 
to  mark  out,  east  of  the  Continental  Divide,  the  route  of  the  trail  for  much  of  its  length. 
Then  came  scores  of  trappers  and  traders;  then  Bonneville  and  his  wagons,  to  deepen  the 
trail,  in  1832:  and  two  years  later,  in  1834,  Campbell  and  Sublette  built  old  Fort  Laramie 
on  Laramie  Creek,  a  branch  of  the  Platte.  Eight  years  later.  Fort  Bridger  was  built  by 
Jim   Bridger,  on   a  branch   of  the   Green   River. 

In  1836  two  women  moved  out  into  the  West  along  the  Oregon  trail.  They  were  the  wives 
of  Whitman  and  Spalding,  missionaries  bound  for  Oregon.  Father  de  Smet,  a  missionary  also, 
followed  in  1840;  then  more  missionaries  from  New  England,  and  two  years  later  Fremont, 
as  far,  at  least,  as  the  South   Pass. 

So  the  Oregon  trail  was  blazed  and  tramped;  traders,  trappers,  goldseekers,  missionaries, 
colonists  until  the  highway  stretched  from  the  Missouri  River  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Years 
passed  and  railroads  supplanted  the  old  Oregon  trail;  its  very  whereabouts  was  forgotten; 
disputes  arose.  Then  an  old  man,  almost  eighty,  with  his"  grandchild,  clambered  into  a  prairie 
schooner,  made  in  part  of  the  one  in  which  he  had  journeyed  westward  in  1852,  and  the  (Jregon 
trail   was   retraced   and  marked   with  monuments,   that  a   people  and   a   nation  may   not   forget. 

F.  G.  M. 


IFOURTH  EDITION  I 


The  Ox  Team 

--  or  the  -- 

The  Old  Oregon  Trail 

An  account  of  the  author's  trip  across  the  plains, 
from  the  Missouri  River  to  Puget  Sound,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two,  with  an  ox  and  cow  team  in 
1852,  and  of  his  return  with  an  ox  team  in  the 
year  1906,  at  the  age  of  seventy-six,  with  copi- 
ous excerpts  from  his  journal  and  other  reliable 
sources  of  information;  a  narrative  of  events  and 
descriptive  of  present  and  past  conditions 

By 
Ezra   Meeker 

Author  of  Pioneer  Reminiscences  of  Puget  Sound, — 

The    Tragedy   of  Leschi, — Hop  Culture  in  the 

United  States, — Washington  Territory  West 

of  the    Cascade    Mountains, — Familiar 

Talks,— A  Three  Years  Serial. 

Published  by  the  Author 
Cloth  60  cents,  postpaid 

Address  EZRA  MEEKER,  Room  1214 
35  Nassau  St.,  New  York  City 

Historical    Post    Card    Views 

Series  A. — 16  Views  of  the  Old  Oregon  Trail  Monument  Expedition  from 
Puget  Sound  to  the  Missouri  River  taken  on  the  way.  Postpaid 
20  cents. 

Series  B. — 16  Colored  Views  of  Noted  Indians,  etc.  of  the  Northwest.  Post- 
paid 25  cents. 

Series  C. — 16  Fancy  Colored  Views  Illustrating  Trip,  with  Map  of  the  Old 
Oregon  Trail.     Postpaid  30  cents. 

Address     EZRA     MEEKER 

Room  No.  1214,  35  Nassau  Street,  New  York 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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AUG  30  1956 


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LIB!?AI?Y  USE 

FEB  20  1963 
FEB  20  1963 


NOV     2 1967 


984420 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


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